What do we call that feeling we get when we finish a really great book?
I’m talking about the sort of book that completely takes you away from wherever you are. The sort of book that makes your existence in the world disappear. The sort of book that makes you pissed off that you ever started reading it in the first place because now that you’re done with it you’ve got a hollow feeling deep inside you. I’m talking about the kind of book that leaves you with the same feeling that sinks into all us after attending either a christening or a funeral.
What do we call that feeling?
It’s not sadness. It’s not joy.
What is it?
I think perhaps it’s reluctance.
Reluctance to make ourselves reenter the real world. Reluctance to accept that our journey taken through someone else’s eyes has come to an end. Reluctance to move on.
That’s what that feeling is. And it’s a good feeling to have.