There's a funny thing about books. They take you into their world, and their presence lingers even after you've finished reading. Happy stories, with happy endings leave you exhilarated, warm and fuzzy inside.
But not all books have happy endings.
Some books are deep, and sad, and powerful.
The characters problems become yours, and their darkness is your darkness.
It adheres to your skins and seeps into your pores, until your blood is toxic.
Fills your lungs with black smoke and grey ash, until you can barely breath.
You see the world through a different lens.
But their problems are not your problems, and their darkness is not your darkness.
Eventually you shake it off of your skin, and cough it out of your lungs, until all that remains are traces in your blood, just enough to help you remember not to make their mistakes, but not enough to plague you with misery. Just enough so that your memory of their darkness, will help you secure your own sunshine.
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