I stayed up hours longer than I normally do last night and only closed my eyes minutes before midnight. I lay in the dark finishing The Kite Runner, or more devouring its remaining half, for more than two hours.
I cried with anger at the hurt of it all. I read on despite being able to tell where it was leading me. I went and kissed my own babes one more time last night and thanked something, although I don't believe in religious power, for where geography and perhaps just good fortune had found my own parents making a life for us.
I loved this book. I have rediscovered my love of reading, of words, of the escape and pleasure they give me.