Into the Void

That one book I picked up a few years ago to shut off reality for a while, to be someone else, someone who got their happy ending is the best thing I've ever done for myself.

Yet, sometimes, when you get too involved into a book, you don't want it to end, as you turn the pages and realize the left side is more thicker than the right side, nearing it's end, you get stuck where you try to change your reading pace but also want to know if they got their happy ending, if they had found their answers.

And once you finish it, picking up your next book feels like you're cheating on your previous one. You're now stuck between wanting to read the next book and wanting to reminisce about the parts where you laughed, cried, blushed, loved and screamed "Holy shit" at least a thousand times.

That's the best and the worst part of finishing a book. You get attached to them without actually realising it because they say and do everything you wish you had. Your insides scream at the thought of your comfort characters having found their person, found their happiness, their home while you're still a nomad... You cry for their traumatic past while you've bottled up the tears for your own. You feel proud of their accomplishments while you've felt like an imposter for yours. You get angry when they get mistreated while you never stood up for yourself. While you feel happy for the way they loved themselves, loved their body, loved them wholly, you only looked at your flaws.

That phase you go through after you turn the page and see a blank page staring back at you, you feel the void. The void of those characters of the book who never really existed yet comforted you in ways people in real life failed to do.

That phase after you finish the book that's close to your heart is like going through a break-up. You shut off reality, zoning out several times while you think about the words that brought you comfort, made you feel at home, everything else around you fades as you get swallowed by the void, the void of feeling everything and nothing at the same time. Your favourite food tastes like cardboard your mindfulness completely vanished as you yearn for a little more time with them, one more chapter, a bonus chapter, an extended epilogue, a sequel or a cameo appearance in the author's upcoming book, something anything that'll give you more time with them. Sometimes you'll get them, sometimes you don't. 

But then, you pick up your next book, push yourself to read through it and you finally break through the void that had both warmed and suffocated you. Your next book feels like your move on phase where you cherish everything you read. This,... This is a vicious cycle and you'll love every second of it and as for me, I would do it all over again.