When all you know how to do is fire a gun,
the bodies start piling up.

I’ve always believed in closure but not when it pertained to you. You were more concerned with the queen of hearts and having the upper hand (rather than holding the right heart in your hands). You always desired to see what was up the other player’s sleeve but never checked your own. Poker face was not a mask but rather a lifestyle— one you played too well and too often for yourself.

There was never a big picture or a great road ahead of you. Only pit stops for the wandering souls. Life became less of the destination and more of the journey (little did you know where you were headed). You grew to care more about instances and examples rather than purpose and decision. You lacked depth and I pitied you for the shallow grave you had begun to dig.

And perhaps during those finite moments of pity, I realized that closure never existed to you. You see, closure meant answers. And answers meant words. And words meant speech. But the only tenant you contained in your vocabulary was silence. Silence was your upper hand while I was just another player in one of your infinite card games.