Books

Lately, each book I read has a significant affect on me. I have the strangest feeling after I’m done with the series. It can only be compared to grief.

The Hunger Games gave me the worst pains in my stomach after it was over. Yes, I have publicly bashed the third book on here, and on my YouTube, but I really fell in love. With the characters, with the storyline, with the setting. Everything. I was completely enraptured with the series. I wanted so badly for it to continue on, and show Katniss and Peeta’s life together, how they were faring with their children, what the world was like by then. SO MANY QUESTIONS UNANSWERED. And yet, it was a solid finale to a wonderful book series that captured my heart.

I just finished reading Fifty Shades of Grey. WHAT A WHIRLWIND. I never once stopped reading this book. Never once did I find anything that I hated. In English: I WAS OBSESSED. I am obsessed. Everything was perfect and nothing hurt, no truer words have been spoken. I finished the book series last night, and I literally feel empty inside. No more Ana. No more Christian. No more love, no more pain, no more stories not being shared, no more overprotective husbands trying to save their disobedient wives because they love them so much. No more sex, no more “Have you eaten?”, no more Taylor or Sawyer or Mrs. Jones (Mrs. Taylor now). I feel like I’ve lost a relative, or six. I feel as though a part of me has died, and I am no longer whole. It’s crazy how much I really really enjoyed this book. Utterly and truely. And the ending was perfect and exactly how I wanted it to be. TAKE NOTES, SUZANNE COLLINS, THAT IS HOW YOU END A BOOK SERIES!

I HATE READING TRILOGIES THEY ALWAYS MAKE ME SAD THAT THEY’RE OVER SO SOON.

I ALSO HATE BEING A BOOKWORM BECAUSE ALL OF MY PRAYERS WOULD BE ANSWERED IF I JUST PLAYED VIDEO GAMES.