After months of prolonging of reaching my goal of finishing reading The Sandman by Neil Gaiman and [cannot really specify an artist for it changes every time], I am brought once again to the state of uneasiness which most often results from having known something to have finally come to an end.

Recovering from this state may not really take a while, but it really haunts me at its climax. Just when I have recovered from the farewell of Special A, something new immediately presented itself to prick each soft tissue composing my cardiac muscle and drives my squishy organ up in my skull unstable, but I definitely know that in a few days time, or hours, it will pass, but as I have just recently stated, it definitely haunts me at its climax.

I know there are tons of things that I want to discuss with regards this comic series; however, it is also clear to me that I would not have a very great idea of how to organize this, or how to start it, or in the end, I may not really be able to talk about the things I would want to drop off in this entry. Probably, if things strike me again, there may be additional entries, but I doubt if they’ll be enough. In the end, it might just haunt me every time my dear parasitic organ taking refuge in my skull decided to remember them, and worse, blaming me for not being efficient enough to let them escape.

So this was one of the days am hangin’ out in the lounge, and as always, there were a bunch of comics and illustrated books lying everywhere, and a bigger-than-regular-size story book was lying in front of me, seeming that it knew that I won’t be able to resist reading it.

I tried to.

But I also ended up reading it.

FAIL.