Yesterday, I came to the end of a really good novel that I had been reading for the last 5 days or so. At first I felt happily satisfied as I turned the final page and laid down the book; now dog-eared and littered with various tell tale crinkles on the front cover and creases down the spine. It wasn’t until a couple of hours had passed that I suddenly had a strange feeling that something was missing, a feeling of disappointment and sadness. I felt as though something amazing had ended… I soon realised it was in fact because my book had ended.


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