Books are like lovers.

For some it is love at first sight.

Yet for others the relationship is tentative, then before you realise you are totally captivated.

There are yet others where the relationship begins on cool terms and progresses to a point of frustration or apathy, where you see no point to continue.

Some you engage in a frenzied all-nighter, filled with passion, fear, hope, suspense, thrill, joy and most every emotion you ever knew.

For these you are left exhausted in the morning, wondering if you made the right choices and how to continue now that the passion is over.

Finally there are those that coax you, feed your imagination, feed your soul. You spend hours, days digesting their every word.

A deep and meaningful connection is established.

However, like all else in this world, it is ephemeral and one day must, too, come to an end though you'd sooner not admit it.

And so in varying states of grief you replay the best moments in your mind with hope that there might be another who might rekindle the same love.