That he liked Jane Austen’s style of writing, but found the story of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy a little dull.
How he asked his mother to send him his copy of An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde, so they could read along.
Furthermore, he would tell her to read The Cider House Rules.
How she would enjoy the style of John Irving.
He feels like knowing her inside out without ever have spoken a single word.
At the moment, she is reading Anna Karenina with her incredibly light blue eyes, framed by bold, black glasses.
Last week, he went to the book shop and bought the Russian’s tome.
He really tried hard and got on reading for the first 150 pages over the weekend, but then he stopped.
How long should he keep reading on?
He was waiting for the point where everything would make sense.
He couldn’t look the plot up on Wikipedia, he told himself emphatically.
But he couldn’t be daydreaming all the time.
He hoped, he could just tell her everything.
How he sees her.
How he feels about her.
Instead he just says again: “Tickets please!”
January 2014
Vota ara! 