so our story has reached the last chapter

it was shorter than either of us imagined, yet all good love stories must come to an end

it was easy, like a slow morning in winter,

reading by the fireplace as snow falls gently

the first act, filled with firsts and quiet promises

the second, falling into step and fitting like an old pair of boots

then the third act, love with the weight of carried doubt

for the first time, i stopped writing

it was too painful, too close

i kept it next to my bedside, turning over possible endings

i had to know what happened to this little life that I was so fond of, 

yet had grown cold

the blizzard of the last chapter still leaves me shivering 

i let him go, watching from the frosted window

“the end” i wrote 

all the best stories have epilogues, but ours hasn’t happened yet

the part of the story where we go and find our own adventures

i might need some time to write it, but for now, 

our story will sit on my bookshelf, 

bathed in the light of a 

warm fire glow