Live Slowly, My Friends

Reading a good book is a lot like living life. We turn the pages quickly, anxious to know what will happen next, imagining ourselves the hero, and knowing somehow we will save the day. Or… at least, not allow it to die.

And then, when the pages left are few, there begins to well within us a sadness, a wistfulness; a wishing we’d gone slower. A knowing in our heart we should have savored the best parts, and, perhaps, even paid more attention to the little details–the boring parts we skimmed quickly through. Thinking, perhaps we missed something, as a gentle aching in our chest whispers, “Oh, yes, we surely did.”
There is a lesson to be learned: Yes, a book can be read again–many times–but this life… the things we do and say… get no second chance.

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