I just finished a book I really liked, one I had been meaning to read for a while, and I’m sad it’s done. That’s the hallmark of a good book, isn’t it? That you’re sad it’s done? That you wish you could have lived with it and in it a little longer?

It feels like a relationship is over, and although there are many more books waiting in my “to read” shelf, I don’t feel like moving on to a new relationship just yet. I keep thinking about what I learned. I also keep reveling in how nice it’s been to actually read a book I bought because I was interested, and not something I have to read for class or for reviewing. (Although there I have been lucky, too, because most of the books I have read recently were books I was interested in myself.)

The book I just finished was Lynne Greenberg’s The Body Broken, and I will write about it soon. But first I need a few days to be wistful, and a few days to gather my thoughts.