"His eyes are a midnight moment filled with memories, the only windows into my world."
So I think I might actually be sick. Good grief, I am so sick of the whinging over each other and the purple prose and the counting thing and the scratched out words and the entire page of "I'm not crazy" with strike through that I am not honestly sure why I'm finishing this except in hopes that it turns into something. Something worth my time. It's an entire series with a huge following and the cover was just lovely and there must be something here, right?
(Also, I only have forty minutes left, The Normandy tells me, and I can't quite convince myself to put a book down when I am that close to the end.)