It was always ending. All things are. We live in a loop of starts and stops and figure eights. The spiral that was us has turned flat and lifeless. I didn't choose the when, as that was you. But I always had a choice. We always do. After years of hope and waiting I recognized the journey's end. With great effort I shift trajectory. One final glimpse of you, then one tattoo, with resolute purpose and determination I said enough. It reads like another lifetime ago and I am grateful for the soothing waves of time that wash it out to sea. It still exists, yet I will never again ride those waves, that bliss and sadness crash upon others in the either. In here its all lace memories, thread bare, in cedar.