Thoughts on reading "Twilight" for the third time...

Rain falls softly in my mind… I am Bella Swan, sitting on my bed, writing down my thoughts of Edward Cullen in my private diary.  

Dragging a hand through my tangled hair, I sigh, and stop my writing momentarily.  I stare out my window, which is partially closed, letting in a gentle breeze.  Rivulets of rain flow in crisscrossing patterns down the windowpanes, but I stare past them, into the thick darkness of the night.

What and who is Edward Cullen?  What mystery beckons to me as I bring a picture of his hypnotically beautiful face to my memory?

My mind returns me to my own identity.  The second-story bedroom in Forks fades into the pages of the book I’m holding in my hands, and I am forced to face myself.  I am Mari.  I am not Bella, although I do identify very strongly with her.  It’s easy to see why.  She doesn’t quite fit in, somehow, although she’s made friends at Forks High School easily enough.  Yet none of them knows the real Isabella Swan.  No one, that is, except Edward.  In the short time he has interacted with her at school, he has seen her true essence.

This is the nature of true love, isn’t it?  That we are known for who we truly are.  That someone else in this world is as comfortable in our inner landscape, although they don’t quite share it, as we are.

I look back down at the pages of my book, and feel the pull of the story, dragging me into it, into Bella’s world.  Into Edward’s world.

I become lost once again in the dream that is “Twilight”…