I make hand-bound journals. I'm decent at it, not great, but enough that I've made them as custom raffle items, contest prizes, etc. I've seen many people gifted these one-of-a-kind treasures, from artitsts to authors to playwrights, and every single one of them does the same thing:
They start flipping through the blank pages, their eyes scanning over non-existent text and images. Their mind becomes a projector; the page becomes the screen. It's like they're looking into a future where these pages are filled with the next great American novel, or haphazard figure sketches, or journal entries and pasted photos of a lifetime of great adventures.
So many of them catch themselves doing this and laugh it off. "I don't know why I'm leafing through it like there's anything in here."
But there is! The blank pages contain possibility.