I’m in the middle of a lovely novel right now. One of those books that you can’t speed read because every sentence, every word is beautifully and artfully written. So it’s taking me a bit longer than usual to get through this one.
And it’s given me plenty of opportunities for that special midnight feeling.
I’m talking about the moment when it’s way past when I ‘should’ be in bed. Everyone else at home is asleep. The night is deep and dark. All the lights are off except my little green book-light hanging off the side of my book. I’m stretched out in bed, comfy and cozy.
At the end of each chapter, I have to turn the page. I want to know what happens next. How do the stories continue to intertwine and connect? My eyes are heavy, but my fingers are quick. As the minutes pass, my eyes fly across the pages.
A quintessentially perfect bookworm moment.