It hit the hardest when you cut me off completely at once.

But maybe that makes more sense.

To deal the blow at once, for good

The slow and squeezing end is more painful

You are more aware of the hurt that way

Aware almost every minute of the waking hour.

And then you try to get away from it

Make your peace with it

Only to come up with more questions than before

and again, there are no answers to be found.

Even now.

No answers

Maybe it isn’t really about finding the answer

It is about means and not just the end as they say

It amuses me to think how the mind works

A process, not so pleasant, seems worth the cost when you know the end is going to be favourable;

A process, rather pleasant, becomes less worthy when you know it holds an unfavourable end.

It still is about the end then

In disguise, though.

And that reminds me of where this began.

At the end.

Our end.