Blank Pages.

Reading is a passion of mine, to be able to delve into the lines and pick up on the most minute details is one of the things I am most passionate about. I believe it is literature that forms my personality, opinion and understanding of people. It’s amazing how much you can pick up from books, how the tiniest of gestures a person makes can reveal novels of information.

I like to think I have a fair idea of how to read people, I’ve found my assumptions to be usually spot on, but with him my senses shut down and I’m blindly stumbling between the lines. His personality and actions are unpredictable, as each page turns I’m on edge as to what to happen. I want the best for us but the happy ending seems to stretch far past the end page, and the plot is just filled with red herrings. I keep turning pages, wanting everything to click together like a jigsaw and everything to be okay but there’s just an array of blank pages.

Throughout, you expect the characters to grow and embrace their flaws, you expect the tragedy to be the most tense point but with every scene I feel that anxiety overcoming every emotion between us. There’s no clear idea as to where this relationship is heading, whether it’s going to have a sequel. For someone with a way with words, I’m speechless when it comes to us.

The novel of our relationship is unwritten.