There's a strange satisfaction with finishing a book.
Line lives are over, although breaths they never took.
And with that satisfaction is a even weirder sorrow,
As every desire to finish the pages, within the last few... go.
Like the hollow unwillingness to give up a friend...
Or to put them on a shelf and declare it "The End"
But it has to be done, the story has to finish...
At least we'll have the memories, they'll never diminish.
Β©Odd
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