or; Goodbye, my sweet book.
I sit at my station at work, hands leafing through the pages of the well-worn book once again, seeing the thick pen underlining key phrases, words that leaped out off the page and into my heart. Reds criss-crossed with blues, the occasional black or green making scant appearances, racing in ugly, hastily-drawn rays across the densely filled spaces.
Only twenty pages to go.
Dog-eared edges, tops all flattened out where my place had been marked, bottoms still bent to signify passages of highest import:
“Y para concluir con todo, yo imagino que todo lo que digo es así, sin que sobre ni falte nada, y píntola en mi imaginación como la deseo, así en la belleza como en la principalidad, y ni la llega Elena, ni la alcanza Lucrecia, ni otra alguna de las famosas mujeres de las edades pretéritas, griega, bárbara o latina.” (P I, Ch. 25)
“Y así era la verdad, como él lo había imaginado.” (P II, Ch. 60)
This epic, this amazing story, this book has been the center of my life for almost three months. I've never had to focus so hard to read so much of a book for a class before, yet every page, every painstakingly placed word has been completely, wholeheartedly worth it.
Only twenty pages to go.
And that scares me. I've been completely immersed in this world of knights-errant, surrounded by giants (or were they windmills?), princesses (or were they men in drag?), and mystical horses (or were they wooden models?).
I'm going to miss this world more than I can put into words.
So thank you, Miguel de Cervantes, for writing the single most encompassing book I've ever read. I have been captivated by your every image, I have seen visions.
And most importantly, I have come to see the world as it can be, rather than as it is.
Only twenty pages to go, and Quijote will be dead. And I will cry. And I will feel conflicted. (At least I will now have the opportunity to dive into Unamuno's Vida de Don Quijote y Sancho, a retelling of the Quijote tale through the eyes of my favorite author. But as much as I love Unamuno, I know it won't be the same. It won't be that vintage, medieval, archaic, genius Cervantes.
Only twenty scant pages to go.