Before tonight...

Before tonight, I separated the words of a book from everyday conversation. Somehow, though, tonight - tonight of all random nights - a sudden realization struck me while discerning meaning through randomly constructed ink on paper before me: the words of a book belong simply to a monologue. Well constructed (hopefully), sure, but a monologue born of conversation from another human nevertheless.

Throughout my life, books have been a friend - sometimes a friend that I only see every few months, but a friend nevertheless. In battle for companionship, it's easy to slip into the quiet embrace of otherworlds carefully constructed by an unknown author. But, tonight, I came face to face with the extension of that thought. I realized that the easy conversation of two people intrigued and interested by each other's stories and lives can somewhat mirror the distraction of reading another's extension of thought without the actual requirements of interaction.

Now, please don't misunderstand me - I'm not throwing out reading in any general sense. The irony of you reading this statement rings loudly in my ears and I carefully tread forward to ensure you, the reader, that reading doesn't constitute wrongness or necessarily deprive you (or me) of human interaction. Like the first drink of a fine wine, enjoyment comes easily in many paths while drunkenness lies in wait along the way when unchecked. It's only that in pain, I realized I quickly find myself immersed in others writings, accepting them as a salve to the human interaction I truly crave. And, even this salve cannot decry the quiet insistence of healing - for a drug prescribed by a doctor in the wrong hands or wrong dosage easily kills, time comes in all our lives when the potently dangerous medicine heals...

The writings I read still exist as an extension of another human consciousness, whoever he or she may be. The yearning of communication may quiet down in the concern of a person's written world, though. A calm medicine to my aches and pains in the moment. But tonight - tonight, I know that enjoyment should never replace that desire or quiet the stirrings of my soul. So write away, dear author. But, call me in the morning....