CLOSURE

Closure, apparently, can be practiced. I started with doors. Then books, windows, drawers, browser tabs. Anything with an open state and a closed one became useful.

Last night I counted them instead of sheep. Close the app. Close the cabinet. Close my eyes. Small rehearsals for an ending that refuses to arrive.

Of course, this is ridiculous. So is lying awake conducting the same postmortem on a thing already dissected past recognition.

Some endings require two people. One to speak and one to hear. This one has neither. The ball is somewhere across the net, and I have already learned that climbing over it does not make it my turn.

Until it comes back, there is nothing left to solve. That is the part my mind objects to. It would rather accept a terrible answer than an unfinished sentence.

Ritual is what remains when information does not. So I close things. Tiny manifestations. A hundred ordinary endings performed without permission from whatever opened them.

Eventually, perhaps, closure stops meaning that he closes this with me... perhaps it means I become very good at closing things myself.