There are no real endings, just continuity. Yet we keep wanting to turn pages hoping that the last ones won’t count or will be erased by time. We can’t will an ending. Things end by themselves when time decides to blur and hide away places, things or people we find hard to let go of. Just like you cannot will yourself not to feel. This may be our curse. Our humaness doesn’t spare us from forgetting our stories. We are chained to them and must learn to live with those parts that ache.