A story about a story.

It’s 1:30 in the morning and I’m sad, not for the normal reasons people are sad….I’m sad because I finished my book. I finished the entire series of the Alchemist by Michael Scott. This book was so many things on so many levels.

It started out as a teen book, but like most of series now days it became more then that. There was heartache and romance. There was war and learning. It pulled me into the pages and made me question things, things in real life that I thought I understood. Reading those last few pages made me sad because the story was over. I would never read about the love between Nicholas and Perry. I would never read about the confusion of Josh and Sophie Newman again. Of course by the end of the book all the confusion was tied up, but trying to figure it out along with the main characters was amazing. I want to jump back into the book and either start over like I don’t know how it ends or pick up right where I left off. Their world was so twisted and turned and intertwined with my world that part of me thinks if I believe (and lived in San Francisco) I could run into She Who Watches.

I’ve read lots of books and have been sad when most of them ended..but I didn’t feel like something was missing like I did when this one ended. Yes I cried when Dumbledore died. I worried that Richard and Kahlan would never find their way back together again a million times. Sometimes I even felt myself get just as frustrated with Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase did. I even drink the milk I can get my hands on just hoping one day I’ll see some pretty amazing butterflies. But this book was different, this one took me in more then any of those.

So I guess the point in this whole story was last week when Veronica asked me what my favorite book was I didn’t know….today I think I do.

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