I Write In Riddles

I closed the book that took over a year to finish.
The search for a new one off the shelf was long, tedious, and uninteresting. Not to mention hard. I liked the last book. I wanted to read it forever.
So I went to the bookstore.
I found one I had started reading before.
I purchased it, took it home.
Browsed through a few pages and fell in love with the words.
Over a few days, I put the book down to pursue more.. erm... interesting things.
I had tried to sit down, read a few pages here and there, but never managed to have the time to give it my full attention.
I was sad.
It had sparked a fire in me, and allowed me to feel alive.
But I'm afraid I've lost it.
I don't think it was stolen, no. That book interested me, and it's really not something anybody else would seem to like, at least, not at first glance.
It's been gone since Monday. I wish I could find it.
I've only been able to read a few pages, and they fascinate me.
I don't remember being so intrigued by the storyline before, but perhaps now that I am older, I am able to understand it better.