You know when something feels unfinished? As if there was “more” to a relationship ending — some unsaid last chapter that never quite made it to see daylight?

It’s tension — one way or both, it doesn’t matter. Like two particles reacting to each other; intimately connected no matter how great a distance apart. Quantum entanglement. If one pulls, the other pushes and vice versa on a subconscious level. The tension felt by one is really tension felt by two. The Other is aware without knowing the awareness. If particularly in tune to the field, the Other is aware of its awareness.

I’ve felt Unfinished, and no matter how much I try to ignore it, it is always there. The book I never bothered to read all the way through. The book I abandoned, abruptly.

Some books are meant to be left unfinished. Lost in some box, stored away. Never to be taken out, to be held, touched, or smelled again.

Some books find its way back to you, imploring to be read.

Perhaps all lovers are like Unfinished books.

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