I read one book. Now I’m trapped.
I finished a story. I got all three parts. Completed. Finished.
But it was merely a glimpse. An introduction. The tattered edge of a map waving invitingly in the breeze.
Beckoning me. Begging me. Calling me to it. Demanding I dig deeper.
Deeper I went. There is another book. A sequel. Well reviewed and available.
It fills the gaps in the first story. It was less a sequel as the rest of the story.
The completion of a tale only half told.
I was excited. And conflicted.
I had other worlds to visit. I tried to dive in. Dangling my toe into their literary waters.
I swam in them. Forcing myself into the crashing waves and chilly depths.
But each time I regretted leaving my first world. It has stuck with me. Demanding my attention. Begging to show me more.
Hiking its skirt up and showing some leg. Legs that went on forever. There were even more books. An entire universe to explore.
A huge world I was merely a tourist in. I had stumbled in unknowingly.
It has me and it won’t let me go. I need to know more. I must visit. I must move there.
I must return to the world I know only vaguely. Armed with more questions than answers, I tip toe closer to its Siren’s song.
I am taken. Shipwrecked. With no hope of escape. Unless I learn all I can. And to do that…
I must read.