In Need of a Never-ending Epilogue

Books. Inanimate objects that can animate entire worlds within a person's head. They’re a form of escapism so powerful that they might as well be considered magic. If one can immerse themselves vividly enough, the stories within those books stay on your mind long after you stop reading. It’s both wonderful and unfortunate at the same time. 
    This could be because I have a strong imagination but finishing a book, whether it be a standalone, duo, trilogy, series, is always so incredibly jarring. Turning over that last page and finding that the world you lived in for days, weeks, months, is over, leaves the sensation of a hole in the chest. A feeling of nothingness, emptiness, loss. No more will you follow the journeys of characters you’ve pictured so definitively. No more will you grow and perfect the imagery of the land they dwell in. These people you know so well now, their world that became so familiar, the rhythm of the author’s way of wording, all of that comes to an end the moment your eyes land on that last period. 
    I just finished a trilogy that, due to me being slow at it, took me months to read. I was so involved and enthralled with the plot, the characters, all of their struggles, failures, and victories. There were moments I couldn’t help but smile and moments I felt my throat close up with the threat of tears. Not to mention how lovely the writing itself was, how poetic and, for lack of a better description, gentle. Tragic and horrible things occurred in those pages but the wording used to describe them was soft, a comforting blanket, much like the way lullabies are despite the awful truths that live in the lyrics. I had never read this trilogy before either, which was new for me as I have a habit of rereading the same books over and over and over again. Thus, to find it a wonderful read made me all the sadder when I finished it because how could I find another gem like this when it was so serendipitous. I know people back in what was middle school for some or late elementary for me talked about these books quite often. It was decently popular if I remember correctly but The Hunger Games/Twilight/Harry Potter battle royal outshone it. Hence why I never read it. I just happened upon the box set of hardcover books in my local thrift store some years ago and bought it for a few dollars. Since I’ve been challenging myself not to reread the same three book series I always fall back to, I decided to finally try this one out of curiosity from the remembered hype around it. 
But now I’ve finished it.
I was wandering around my room after completing it on one of my days off work. Wandering from one proper bookshelf to the other dinky-built-in-woodshop-bookshelf, I stared blankly at the stacks of books piled upon both. Did I want a hardcover or softcover? Did I want a long term series or a one book stand? Fantasy? Sci-fi? Supernatural? Realistic? I couldn’t decide because I didn’t want to leave the world I was just in. I even contemplated rereading the whole thing for a few moments like I’ve done with tv shows and movies. But, no, I had to move on. There was another adventure awaiting, I just had to turn over a cover and first couple pages. It was such a frustrating, mildly stressful, slightly angst filled debate. I, over the past few months acquired new books from my drugstore that looked good so those I contemplated. I glanced at books given to me as gifts. I skimmed over books I bought on a whim secondhand that weren’t even the first of a series, I had just assumed I’d find the rest the same way. I paced back and forth for long minutes trying to force my brain to leave the pages of the book I finished so I could find a book to start. 
Finally I settled on the first of a series I had never completed years before, but even then, I had doubts and questions and second guesses. I didn’t want to leave. And that is something I reckon a lot of folk go through. When a show or movie or book is finished one might be left wondering what to do with their life. I figure it’s because a life was lived and since that life has come to a close, it leaves us in an odd state of limbo because our minds were indulging so much in something that ceased to continue. I had the same numb feeling when Game of Thrones ended and Sunday was no longer special. It’s quite a weird thing to experience because thinking about it from a distance, it seems silly and meaningless. However, it’s a very real sensation, one that can haunt you for days on end. I think though, that it shows how much we can care so deeply about something so different or unreal or far away from our current state of existence. And we can do that because, like all the Pinterest Pins from the 2010s, these stories are true, the characters are real. Perhaps not in a literal and complete way, but what we read and watch, those tales that leave an impact on us, do so because no matter the setting, our humanity, our actions, their results are reflected back at us. We see our fears come true, have our sorrows shared, hear our struggles spoken about. People write what they know so we witness our very selves in even the most inhuman of characters. We can find ourselves relating to fictional strangers because they are not strangers, nor fiction, but mirrors of qualities shared amongst scores of individuals. 
I do love though how, when a story is good enough, I can go back and enjoy it all over again just as much as the first time. I am also wondering when I’ll be absolutely submerged in my current second life made up of ink and parchment. After reading a little more today, my grief over the end of my last book seems to have ebbed away…
..just a smidge.
Perchance if I read some more…