The book ‘Prisoner of Tehran’ by Marina Nemat was an O.K read but it didn’t have me genuinely interested. I’ve been looking for quite some time for something good to read, something familiar so of course it was no surprise when I began reading HP 7.
The last time I read it was the first time I’d read it, which was the day after it was released. I couldn’t bring myself to read it again after all this time because reading it again meant that the series was actually and truly over and that meant having to acknowledge it’s end. The end of an era. I started reading that book when I was thirteen.
It’s been a long, long time since. And it got me thinking about every other great memory – all of those pieces that had formed these pictures in their frames. The HP series was just one of those things that made up everything that’s ended and everything that’s slowing to a halt and everything I wish would keep staying on the ride with me.
The weather’s getting suckier. Go-o winter!