The Ending

 

 

 

 

 

                                                      The Ending


 

The one-bedroom loft felt like the end of a chaotic storm after the thundering yelling and blasts of tears; the rain of pain on the sidewalk was gone as quickly arrived. That, and the apparent love we felt for one another. In any case, this time, we realised it wasn't enough. The chaos had happened, and we could, in any case, both feel it. More so, the storm wouldn't leave until one of us did. 

 

We realised it must be her. 

 

“This could be a book,” Stephanie stated, as she packed her things to leave.

 

“How would that be?” I answered. “We're living at the point the story ends. The ending sucks.” 

 

Stephanie wrapped up her last bits of things. “I suppose this is goodbye then,” she said. 

 

I saw her that moment, appreciating and loving the woman I had devoted long stretches of my life to, and out of nowhere couldn't phantom the idea of this being the conclusion to our story. If we were genuinely living at the last bit of it, there could, in any case, be an opportunity to change what was about to transpire. I stopped her not long before she reached for the door. 

 

“Can you stay with me, only for today? This evening?” I questioned. 

 

“It won't change anything, Richard,” she responded. 

 

“I realise that. Be that as it may, are we able to dream again, only for this evening?” 

 

It was at that moment that we realised how to end it. Maybe, for one night, we could play the remnants of a relationship that we knew had passed on. For only one night, we could be the lovers once more, declare our feelings, and take the last bow to respect the love that was still there, regardless of whether it wasn't ample enough to turn the page to the start of the story. 

 

“Right now, really?” Stephanie inquired. 

 

“We should wash up for dinner,” I said. 

 

We moved to the bathroom, turned the valve on, and steam from the shower-head occupied the room and hazed up the mirror. Stephanie snuck up behind me, kissing my neck as she removed my clothes. I grabbed her, and we kept kissing as I removed hers. 

 

The water felt calming as it worked through my head and streamed down my back. I held her against me under the water and connected my temple against hers, our hands touching and fingers interlacing. There wasn't an ounce of hunger, dominance or submission. It was delicate and tender, how love ought to be. Each strange battle we had ever had appeared to wash away. Any past thoughts I had of pain or detest towards her were cleansed from my body as we remained under the water and gazed at one another with the most extreme warmth. 

 

We escaped the shower, helped each other dry, ate a light dinner, talked about the coming work week, a holiday once taken, went to bed, realising this would be the last night we would sleep alongside one another. It was then that I understood the book was almost finished. I held her firmly and against me until she fell asleep. I unobtrusively wept well into the night. 

 

In the first light of the day, Stephanie promptly got her things to leave. She opened the front door and turned around to take a look at me one final moment. 

 

“I really meant it when I said this could be a book. You ought to write it one day. You're a decent writer.” 

 

“It's a possibility,” I replied, realising that I never would. 

 

She laughed and left. 

 

He was unable to imagine a better 'The End.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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