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Endings Make the Story.

Reflecting on the hope
and meaning
she had given me
would make the memories
a dream,

if not transmuted
to a nightmare
by the closing scene.

Pleasure and peace
become so haunting
in the light
of the transience.

Trust grows and blossoms
from the fertile soils
of naïveté.
Awaken me from sleep,
then abandon me.

Higher the climb,
harder the fall.
Get the blood
then cut the jugular.

Endings make the story.
They deliver
the ultimate
message of the narrative.

Given the pain,
why don’t I
just close the book?


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