Fiction

I am lonely for the company of the fictional characters I've been getting acquainted with lately.

I love that feeling of sadness, almost remorse, I get as I close a book I've really loved, whose characters I feel I have understood, suffered and rejoiced with, but I hate to leave them behind.
Part of me wants to re-read the last pages or a particular scene that I've loved, but I honestly feel like I'm intruding. They've said their good-byes to me and want to get on with their lives, but I want to linger longer. Re-reading takes a little bit of the magic away if you do it immediately.

I feel this way about the tales told me by my writing group as well, though it's a bit different. Their characters haven't said good-bye yet. They're right in the middle of their adventures and I've come to love them, but I have to wait till they tell me more.

Oh, fiction, what a great escape you are! Sigh...