read lots of books, but not all make me want to devour. Analyze the sentence construction, interlocking forms of content, development, balance, feeling and action. There are books for all these things they can not detach myself for a minute. Stand the basic needs for exploring. I want to advance the plot and form, but I hate think that the book, inevitably, will end. Others, poor books, I read at times, when you can, I read to distract me. Do not underline anything. Avanzo, in part, to see the end. Seeking fundamentals and analysis forms queda ahí: no encuentro un sentido (mucho menos varios sentidos). El libro pasa por mi vida como muchas otras experiencias, como rituales vacíos, como rutinas. De pronto avanzo siete páginas y siento que no me dejó nada. O me fui por las nubes pensando en la cotidianeidad. No son los libros más preciados, los del lugar especial en la biblioteca o en la casa, los intocables, los cuidados como oro. No son los que se buscan intensamente en la librería ni se releen y se subrayan siempre cosas nuevas hasta que el libro parece estar casi todo lleno de escrituras (a lápiz o mentales) y se los recomienda a cada persona que esté buscando algo para leer.
Hay ciertos libros en el medium. At first they look good. Highlights certain things. There is no such symbiotic attachment although the need for reading. Perhaps by the time one is living is some magic in the book. But then, years later, I re-read and the book is bland and underlined phrases have the mystery of why they are stressed. No more challenging. It is another book, although perhaps tinged with the affection that one day awoke.
Many relationships are so, like books. Moved by a person when it suddenly crosses the street and farewell after the smile remains. But the rest of days that person's thoughts or peers. Further, intense, do not let us imagine our lives without them. They are part of us, redefine, are valued, it goes back and forth, building a road, winding at times, but common way to end. Rachel is the book that I loved but I was caught, the only edition of that book you gave me but I had to return before the finish and I could not get it again. I left word for stress, spaces for new meaning, silence by understanding. I was in fourth or fifth page of a very fat book. And if four or five pages thus earned the penalty, then the entire book had to belong, sooner or later, to my favorite.
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