I cried tonight, I really truly cried. My nose stuffed up so much my ears throbbed. I rocked back an forth on the edge of my bed, crying and crying. The tissue was sollen and wet and covered in snot and salt water. A drop fell from the tip of my nose and landed on the book I was reading. Each new word I read was a blow to the gut. I was torn apart with every new paragraph. My heart ached for characters that never existed. I hated and respected the author over and over inside my head, right alongside his beautiful words of poetry. Hated him because of the pain I was being put through. Respected him because it takes a lot to get me to cry over a book. Like, seriously cry. As in tears streaming down face, nose dripping with snot, and the occassional sad snuffle. I have never been so moved by a book before. I think I need to hug every person I've ever cared about. This piece of art just made me realize how fragile humans are. We can be here one second and gone the next. We don't realize that every thing can be taken away from us with no warning. Then we're left there in the street; stupidly sitting with our mouth open, broken and left to rust along with the shards of glass from the bomb. The brave stand up and try to connect the pieces, the weak waste away in a dark room; still contemplating what happened to every thing they've ever known. I wonder if that's what will happen to me? Will every good thing I've ever known be stripped away from me an then just leave me on the steps? You want to know the book? The book that made me cry? The book that shattered my dignity in less than ten minutes?

The Book Thief





....By Markus Zusak