Dear Mr Henshaw

 

Dear Mr Henshaw

A girl once asked me what my favourite book was. I told her it was 'Jane Eyre' so she wouldn't be repulsed by what I truly had to say. In all honesty, I can't remember the last time someone asked me about my favourite book and I answered the question correctly. 

It's 'Dear Mr Henshaw' by Beverly Clearly. They don't make books like those anymore, those whose words are enough to drown you in its lamp of sorrow but also make you the happiest you've ever been. I re-read it every year around Christmas, not so much because I miss it, but because I'm afraid if I stop reading it, I'll forget about it. Isn't that what we're all terrified of? To forget more than to be forgotten?

I often wonder if its so much about the book or the keepsakes that came with it. A little bit of both maybe.  Perhaps its the certainty of suffering an already acquainted fate. With books and people both. Beggings of a familiar grief. Better a known hurt than an uncharted future. 

05.01.2022


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