there ain't no END quite like it

I always get these crazy feelings when I finish a really good book. And it seems all the books have been really good lately. This time, it was a wave of goosebumps that started in my arms and shot through my entire body as I got through the dying pages of It. Goosebumps and shivers. And why not? I feel like I can just tell when an author has poured every last piece of himself into a novel. One thousand eighty nine pages of his darkest fears and deepest desires. The plot itself is almost meaningless at this point. You're simply all in because you know he's all in. And much like the story, I felt like I was revisiting a part of my own childhood by re-reading this book. Reading it as an adult for what seemed like the first time. (Ah, memory. You never fail me) And there was one line about how it is also good to be grownup and able to consider the mystery of childhood on the very last page that sent a chill that felt like a tear drop from somewhere way, way deep inside me.