Often, as a writer, I allow a story to drift off into the void, with no definitive conclusion, resolution, or insight. Life is like that much of the time, a smudge of situations overlapping one another in the same time and space, with no obvious dividing lines between anything, no endings – not unless I create them through various self-deceptions. But even then, the unfinished business of things continue to haunt me, well beyond the artificial endings I’ve given them.
Closure is more myth than reality. Most everything in life is part of an ongoing process of overlapping transformations; there are no precise beginnings or endings, not like the chapters in a novel. This is difficult for the human mind to comprehend though, and so we compartmentalize everything into separate parts that abruptly begin and end, despite reality.
© 2021 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.
Notes from David 