even life… be it climactic anything requiring resolve.
But what if there is no end? No finality, no closure
just reflection on what could be, might be, you hope to be?
Why can’t they finally find themselves in the same place
fate deciding to jump in and assist, once and for all?
A story has to end, right? Otherwise, you’re lost
in dreams, in outcomes, in probabilities,
alcohol softening the blow when none come to pass.
There could be blue skies and moonlit nights,
and true love, or whatever that means in real life.
It can be real, genuine, and actual. Not a
fabricated story of impossibility.
Maybe the end is to have no end at all.
No resolution, no fate, no answer to burning questions
on how to exist suspended by the unknown.
There’ll be no star to wish upon, no matter near or far.
No sign to signify This is the end.
No sunset to shimmer on two real people in love.
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