She poised her pen to the paper, ready to bleed all the words out, as if by so doing she would be able to purge all her memories of him. But as soon as she started to think of the words she would write about him and of their love that gone wrong, and about the realities that turned illusions, she realized she’s not yet ready.
She’s not yet ready to let it all go, to let go of him and of their story, to put an end to it. Not yet.
But she knows that next time she will be able to write it all down—she must—and put a period to this chapter as she would never ever let this be the ending.