Graven.

Though undoubtedly inspired by experiencing the movie-finale of the epic of a generation, a series that has redefined both literature and movie-making, impossibly written by a homeless woman in Britain, that makes my reflections none the less true.

There are certain things that will become engraved into you. These things latch on to your person, ever there, and evermore a part of you.

I first began to understand this while developing a habit. For years now, any time I read a series that pulls me in, that provides me a total escape, I am rendered helpless by it upon its completion. Provided a high quality of writing, and a story that deserves it, by a series' end I find that it has stealthily made its way beneath my skin, has taken hold of my attention and will not relinquish it even once finished. Personally, this is not always a pleasant thing, as I've frequently found. This often multi-day stupor of reflection leaves me distracted, avoidant, and subsequently (more) introverted. And I wouldn't trade them for anything. There's a solace to be found in the silent reflections of art often graven into our souls. As easily as it can disturb and upset, it calms and quiets.

As it has inspired this odd mood, it is only fair to acknowledge the epic that is Harry Potter, as referenced above. Having read through the series more than twice, and single books within it far more than that, the same stupor invades me every time I complete the series. The characters, their developement, and the scope, even knowing the plot, all its major twists and turns, they wrestle your attention, they wrap their tendrils around your mind and demand the same intimate relationship read after read. Not bad for woman who started with silly names on a napkin.

Alternately, experiences can have a similar effect. Perhaps even more lasting.
A year ago now, after flying to Wyoming for a week visit with my mom, me and my girlfriend undertook the longest travel of my life. Driving alone on the highway, or late into the night, I still sense her ghost in the passenger seat next to me. I can still see the lightning stretching for miles in every direction as the rain thunders against the roof. I can see the silhouettes of the fields of wind-turbines glowing red in their rows as far as the eye can see.

That trip, similar to books such as the Harry Potter series, has left in me an unmistakable wound. A beautiful scar that I will likely remember for the rest of my years. I miss those hours on the road, much as finishing a good series is like leaving a friend behind. Books may be re-read, and the memories are always there to look back upon. But in the retrospect of the moment, there is alway a sad nostalgia that accompanies them. Their moment has passed, and the world moves on, only leaving behind their marks in their influence over us.