You were the exclamation point in the sentence of my feelings, a loud and restless reminder of the erratic beating of my heart whenever I saw you.

You were the comma in the first group of my thoughts, a promise of more, a promise of better days to come.

You were the parentheses in this world of paragraphs, keeping me safe within your arms, making me feel the good kind of different.

Yet too soon, you became a question mark in my head. I was slowly filled with doubt and uncertainty. You were my sanctuary but your walls were crumbling down, the beautiful book we were writing was falling apart.

You are the period. An ending. A conclusion. A warning sign that says this is the end. The problem was that I let you be anything that you could be, so you became punctuation marks in our story. You were an exclamation point, a comma and parentheses but you became a question mark and now, a period. I let you become anything so you became our ending. You are the period to the conclusion of our story but what I failed to see was that I was the one holding the pen. **You were the ending and I was the writer.