submerged in longing

As always when I write, I feel very sentimental, or whatever.  I just finished reading a romance novel.  One by Nicholas Sparks, so it’s not contra-feminist, as I tried to prove in my paper last term.  I proved it effectively, I proved one thing and contradicted myself after, still proved the reality of both sides.  Romance novels are contra-feminist, regard the mediocre simpleton characteristics of the woman, however in a slightest chance as we are unfolding the 21st century, various feminist once emerged.  As I was saying, I just finished another of his novels, I don’t read much of him because I prefer human-pain stories,  I’ll expound why.  I like reading those that depict human pain because I would like to see how they are able to handle it and how they would, in the end, arise victorious.  I don’t take fond on their pain and suffering, but I take fond on their strength. 

Coming back to Nicholas Sparks, as most of his novels, it left me feeling sad.  Sad once again, I am. It was the novel "Dear John".  I don’t want to expound on it, I’m not a critic but it always leaves me longing.  What should I say?  As I must have said thousands of times before, I’m longing.