It started off as a whisper, barely audible over all the voices clamouring to be heard. I thought I heard it's siren's call but it was so soft as to go almost undetected. But still it’s effect was noticed. I really tried to go to the next one. It was time, its time was over. I was able to move on for one, but its voice slowly began rising; it was now slightly more then a murmur. But I ignored it, denying the call; the lure it had for me. But slowly all else began to fade into the background, even those I had sought to supplant it; those I had looked forward to with eager delight. I tried to move forward; into the next stage, but every time I tried to make a move, the voice that started off as a soft whisper would get louder, more insistent. It slowly became unrelenting. I would find myself thinking; remembering what was in the most unusual of times.
It wasn’t that this was a new phenomenon. I had experienced it before only a few short months ago. At that time things weren’t as frightful and I could indulge; I could listen and obey that unrelenting voice that called. But this addiction has only grown in the previous months and I didn’t have time to pander to that voice that wouldn’t stop.
But it wouldn’t stop; the compulsion to just give in and let the voice take over. I myself was weakening each day as the voice increased in volume each day until finally, this morning I admitted defeat. In order to go forward, I first had to go back. I knew I would feel no lessening until I did.
So I gave into the voice that started as a mere whisper and was now a soon to be conquering shout. The only consolation is I know how strong the gratification will be. Although I experienced the thrill only a short while ago, I can rejoice that in my weakness, I will once again experience that ecstasy that only reading a keeper can give me.
Yes; despite the number of books I just got and the ones I will be getting soon, ignoring the ones that have been sitting, lying, calling for an indeterminate amount of time, the only thing I can think of is rereading the book that hasn’t finished with me yet.
I’m rereading The Madness of Lord Ian MacKenzie.
It wasn’t that long since the last time I went through this. Broken Wing wouldn’t leave me alone until I’d read it four times in a row. So – am I alone in my weakness? Does anyone else ever have those books that won’t leave them alone? That whisper to them? That won’t allow you to move on to other books until you read that one particular book again? Please tell me yes.