Ever since I was little, I have been enamored with books.

I first learned to read when I was very young, probably around four, and it became an addiction. As I grew older, reading developed into more and more of an actual enterprise than just a hobby. Instead of being part of school, something done just for homework, it was something I enjoyed and desired to do over other things. I put aside the single-book endeavors of childhood and embarked on the quest of conquering series after series, expanding my empire of pillaged volumes.

In fourth grade I became so obsessed with reading that I began to prioritize it over my actual legitimate homework. My parents quickly caught on when I started staying up super late at night to finish what used to take me half an hour, and I was subsequently banned from reading for fun until I'd finished all my homework. Little did they know that every time I took bathroom break I would bring a book with me. This is how dedicated I was. I love books more than most things in the world, but I hate finishing them.

When I read, I get so lost in the maze of the story that I completely disappear from real life. I have no awareness of what’s going on around me whatsoever. This habit has often gotten me in trouble, especially on car rides when, an hour or two down the road, it will finally occur to me to ask where we’re going and why. My parents and brother often weren’t amused because they’d spent the first hour discussing this exact topic in great detail.

When I read, I flee from the world into one entirely different. The characters become tangible, and when a book is especially well written, I can project them into my life even when I’m not reading. I don’t just see the events I’m reading about as a movie in my head. When I read, I’m in the story. I’m an essential, inseparable part of it. And this, I believe, is why it pains me so much to finish a book.

Part of the purpose of the book is the narrative it shares, the exposition, the rising action, the climax and denouement. But the soul of the book is the world contained within, the characters and setting, the values and the culture. When you read a book, you get the briefest of glimpses into an entirely new, challenging, exciting realm, and the adventure you experience is only one of many to be had. The thing I can’t stand about finishing a story is the feeling that I’m missing out on the rest of the journey. The characters don’t all die (usually), the kingdom or country is still there and there are quests to be completed and far off lands to be explored. No matter how well the story is wrapped up, it’s impossible for an author to put a universe neatly in a box and tie it with a bow. That hasn’t stopped many from trying, leading to series which turn into monsters with no real end in sight and no plausible plot remaining, but there’s no real end to that world. When I finish a book, especially a really good one, I get this feeling in my chest as if I’ve been ripped prematurely from one shining, breathtaking universe and dumped back into the mundane world I thought I’d left behind. All of a sudden I’m back, and everything is exactly the same as I’d left it, but I’m different, and there’s nowhere to go with that. All I can do is close the book, put it aside, and go back to the real world. Until I find a new universe into which to dive headfirst.