Read a book in three hours, alone in bed. From midnight to three in the morning, and I need time to let the story go. I can't fall asleep after reading three hundred pages worth of characters. Like a soul drifting from between dead ribs, or a memory floating silken smooth into a basin, the story needs time to let me go. And I need time to descend to a reality where bears do not talk, and three in the morning is past my bedtime.
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