in the end

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they say penning the first sentence of anything is the hardest part. and while that is true, i have to believe that bringing a composition to an end is equally as arduous a task. and maybe that’s because unlike movies, and pints of ice cream, and even days on the calendar, a collection of the written word is never truly finished. i mean, yes, one may reach an ending point for a time, but if given the opportunity to make an amendment or two, more often than not the opportunity does not go untaken.

and that’s because like most art forms, writing is ever evolving. time, space, life experience all offer forums for an editing eye. changing perspectives lend themselves to alternative endings, heck, even alternative beginnings and maybe a few drops of red ink inbetween.

and for this reason (one among many), i’ve found it quite difficult to find a definitive pause in my novel-writing ambitions. for as everyday existence seems to continue to provide more than adequate material for additional chapters, drawing a line in the sand seems to become a nearly impossible endeavor.

and maybe i’ve used the inability to draw the curtains to a close as a crutch. if i’m never able to find the appropriate verbiage to conclude this collection of love’s misadventures 27 years strong, then well, maybe i can prolong its release to public scrutiny for one more day.

but as i sat today comtemplating just how exactly i would conclude my thoughts, i began thinking about how it is i end things outside of the realm of composed prose. and well, turns out, i’m just as terrible at saying goodbyes in person as i am from behind the computer screen. and if you’ve ever tried to say goodbye to me, you’d know why. i am the worst. but maybe that’s because goodbyes seem so finite, so permanent, so well, to be honest, depressing. i don’t want a period after our time of fun, i’d much rather opt for an elipses; a to be continued, see you later, see you soon, see you tomorrow!

so maybe there’ll never be the perfect place to end my thoughts.

but maybe that’s okay.

maybe for now, here is a good a place as any to let the ink run out.

Let’s be honest, I still have no idea how love works. I may actually be more confused than ever. But what
I lack in understanding and comprehension, I certainly make up for in gratitude. Because even despite
the moments of sheer and utter dumbfoundedness, I have still managed to be thankful for the men
who’ve danced in and out of my life for the past 27 years. They’ve not only served to make me more
self-aware, but have allowed me to experience life in facets I may have never entertained if not for their
initial encouraging. And well, they’ve treated me to a lot of fun along the way, too. Sure there’s been heartache, for which I may or may not have taken out on many a down-feather pillow, but sometimes you have to simply take the good with the bad. Because only with taking the bad can you make millions off of a book learn to appreciate the good when there’s good to be had.

So Dear Exes,

Thank you. Seriously, thank you all.

Love always, Me

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