I am not talking about crying, but weeping red cheeks and sharp intake
of breaths. Many times a book will draw you in and involve you in the
fecundities and serendepities of the characters as they tumble around
within the mind-world created by the creative stlyings of the author.
Characters play the angles with each other and their frailness or
misperception of strength invokes in the reader , the giggles, the
worry, shock and sometimes a choking up with a stream of tears as our
heros fail to meet either each other's expectations or our own. When 5
chapters back the scenery changed and a minor (but brilliantly
described) character changes the scene with machinations of good or
ill intent.

I am not talking about tears, but sobbing, grabbing your sides in a
soothing-self hug as the words on the page set off some sort of
internal collapse and firehose.

I've got a few and they are firmly routed in my perceptions of myself,
indeed my manhood, capacity for struggle, performance anxiety and
Whitmanesque iterations of selfness; with seeds strewn contingently around
the fresh loam chock full o' nutrients and manure.

# A Seperate Peace

When I first read this book in my late teens, I don't think I
comprehended the details enough to grasp the actions of the
characters, or maybe I still needed the delusion of my bitter
protective ego-armor that it just did not touch me. In my early 20s,
as I wandered the mall of knowledges ( a.k.a. community colllege),
attempting to make a go of things without any clear academic, romantic
or personal direction was akin to walking through marsh mud. The very
forces of the universe, I decided, were aligned against me to weigh
down my every step. Around this time, I read for a second time E.M.
Forster's A Seperate Peace with a warm familiarity that allowed me to be
drawn deeper into Phineas and Gene's relationship. And when Gene comes
to understand more fully why he pushed Phineas from that branch and
the ramifications- something wthin me broke (free?open?loose?) as I realized my own
internal Phineas ( my inner champion bright boy, laurel leafed) was consistently
being pushed off the branch by my inner Gene (straightlaced AP rascal straight outa Suburban, Texas).

I wanted to know  my Phineas better, but it was my Gene which I needed to have a clearer
sense of: an unblocking occured where all of this rushed over me all
at once. I grasped the book, myself and bawled and let myself off the hook a little.

And had a good long talk with my inner Genes.

No reason to go pushin oneselfs off one's own branches.