All I can think of lately is the first time I read "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky. It was first semester of my senior year in high school and pretty much everyone I know had heard of it, read it, and had their own opinion. People don't like to admit enjoying anything that's even the least bit popular, so most of these opinions were negative and overtly judgmental, but I decided to pick it up anyway and see what all the hype was about. Truth be told I've never loved a piece of literature more. I've never related to a main character as closely as I did to Charlie, and I have never been impacted as profoundly by any other novel. It's really hard to find the feeling that those letters gave me the first time. It's one of the most specific things I've ever felt, and also one of the greatest. Sometimes I can find it in the company of my dearest friends, or in the high pitched shrieking of freight wheels as they break steadily and pass through the city. Sometimes it is with me under water, or stuck between my toes like sand. Ever so occasionally I will see it in a stranger, or wake up to it in the dark. It is a feeling that I can never keep, I don't think anyone can. It's fleeting nature is part of its wonder. It is there and then it quickly goes. I never see it coming, and I am always startled when it slips away. The best books not only make you feel like part of the story, but cause you to ache for its characters when the are gone. I ache for Charlie with each passing day.