We didn’t end in a sonic boom

or with tongues shaped like guns

and fingers pointing targets at our heads.

There was no one to blame here.

We didn’t end with pages turning.

I was still caught on the first sentence

and you were missing the times when

you did not want to read books for fun.

We didn’t end in a graveyard burying our limbs

six feet under so we did not have to feel something.

We wanted to feel everything,

as if hurting was the only way to start healing.

I’ve been healing for a while now.

We didn’t end in a storm.

The thunder in my chest stopped beating

and the lighting in my eyes ceased to strike.

You are 73.8% water and it had not rained for months.

I was thirsty.

We didn’t end in vain,

creating moments that died when our love did.

They are still breathing.

Their lungs still produce your cologne;

throats cultivate the same flowers

from the garden we sat in;

hands grasp my bones the

same way yours did before.

We were not nothing.

You were not nothing.

This taught me something.

We didn’t end with a crash,

no explosion, no new chapter,

no tombstones, no rain;

we went silently.

It’s been about a year since you have not been here

and I am fully recovered after the fall.

But honestly,

I still catch myself wishing we didn’t end at all.