Isn’t it bone chilling that mere words that hold lives of strangers in themselves have so much potential to weave us with those between the pages?
Only yesterday, I complete reading Atonement by Ian Mcewan and even though Robbie and Cecilia and Briony lived in a different time when I wasn’t even born, I felt somewhere all our lives were woven together. I read miserably as I found pieces of myself in the torn lives of Robbie and Cecilia and somewhere like Briony all I was left with was guilt and atonement. It’s strange. How can one possibly feel so intensely for someone who doesn’t exist? How could my life which ran parallel to the ones in the story suddenly intersect with theirs? Somewhere I am Cecilia writing down to Robbie, being his hope and whispering I’ll wait for you. Come back. Come back to me. Somewhere, perhaps in a different dimension, I am Robbie keeping Cee’s letter near my heart and thinking I am her reason for life. And she mine. And somewhere I meet Briony. And I feel hollow and bitter and wait for someone, something, anything that works as a sedative.
Ian Mcewan just ruined my life all over again.