End of love Stories

I hate the end of a story. The final line of a poem. Or that last piece of popsicle that always falls off the stick. There is such a sadness to being no more. Maybe that’s why we can’t let go. Even when it is long past over. We wait as long as we can. Forever is such a long time. And letting go means the start of forever. We look away like we didn’t notice. We hide. We lie. We tell ourselves it isn’t today. And make belie...