Are we looking for endings?
Or just a means to an end?
We're so used to the idea of stories not ending unless they end happily
that we must push,
bolt the door,
and plaster smiles on our faces till we convince ourselves we're finally okay.

What about unanswered questions we both have?
I turn to the pages of my diary to ask why you left.
To ask why you didn't try to stop me from leaving.
To ask if you ever cared or if you feel the same sense of relief that I feel now that you're gone.

What would be the last frame of this movie anyway?
Are we smiling as we walk our own ways?
Is one of us left crying at the table we shared drinks and curses at?
Are we going to be dragged kicking, screaming to our ends by our own egos?

Or will this end softly in silence?
Will a last kiss be appropriate?
Will a last time running my hands over a real, unpixelated body be enough?

There are more open doors now than ever before.

But, yours is the only one I want to close.