Never Let Me Go
I had never felt more alone in my life.
It was two in the morning, and my apartment was completely dark except for the barely functioning lamp that resides next to my bed. The air had a strong March crisp to it, and there was an occasional breeze that crept into my bedroom.
I had just finished Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, and the last few pages sunk deep into my heart. I sat in bed and held the book carelessly in my hands, feeling so… temporary.
Questions raced through my mind in a complete frenzy as I sat completely still. My breathing became an unbearable movement in my body, rapidly rushing back and forth like it was looking for an escape from this prison. I didn’t know what or who I was searching for, but I knew that I just wanted someone permanent and tangible – just someone there.
All the security I felt before from the people in my life flew out the window, and at that moment, I felt like I was grasping onto nothing. Who can I call at this hour who would be willing to listen to my insecurities about my relationships? Who would even understand this panic that snuck in while I was consuming the last few pages of this book? I searched frantically for a face in my mind, but nothing: blank pages, dark spaces, empty hearts.
