I rush through books. When I become attached to one, I just can't seem to slow down and enjoy every moment of it. I take it in and demand to know everything about it in the shortest amount of time possible. It's the way I am.
Which is to say that when I come to the end of a book I really love, I am always sad. I miss the characters and the connections I've forged with them. Lots of books leave me wanting more. When I come to the last page, I realize the flaw in my plan.
This book, in particular struck me. Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on the lawn at my apartment complex, completely wrapped in it. It was a perfect day, the sun shining down and the new spring hanging all around. The last page was nearly torture for me, as I had to get up and search for another book to do that to me.
Thank you Jodi Picoult....seriously.