literary gluttony

There’s a peculiar kind of emptiness that comes after finishing a book that truly gets under your skin. Not the “what should I read next?” kind of lull, but something quieter—an ache that feels suspiciously like missing someone you used to know.

You close the cover, still half-living in the story’s world. You keep glancing at the book on your nightstand like it might open itself back up. And even as you move through your day—making coffee, scrolling your phone, answering emails—part of you is still there, in the story, with them.

Some characters linger like ghosts. They slip into your thoughts uninvited, whispering a line you can’t forget or reminding you of a moment that hit just a little too close. Others fade softly, but you still remember how they made you feel—their courage, their heartbreak, their small victories that felt like your own.

It’s strange, isn’t it? To miss people who never really existed. But maybe that’s the magic of reading. Books let us borrow other lives for a while, and even when those lives end on the page, they don’t quite end in us.

Maybe that’s why readers are always chasing the next story. Not just for escape—but for connection. For that fleeting moment when ink and imagination blur into something that feels real enough to miss.

So tell me—who’s the last fictional character you couldn’t quite let go of after the final page?