Cessation

In a moment, everything can change.  Every word unspoken, each question unanswered, the last thought forsaken once and for all.  Everything stops.  All becomes still.  Movement ceases.  Thought matters no more.  It is the end.  Bitter or sweet, sympathetic or frigid, it is what it is.  Nothing more, nothing less.  No fancy symbolism, no imposing metaphor.

This is the end.  It is not decorated, it does not announce itself.  It lays itself softly down and leaves everything else abandoned.  No more thoughts to permeate the peaceful stillness, no more rash words or actions to force harsh consequences.  Everything is quiet and gentle.  Nothing matters.  It does not need to anymore.  For, after all, it is quite simply the end.

It is not a moment of shame nor of pride.  It does not in itself reek of triumph nor of failure.  It is quite simply an affirmation of a conclusion.  It indicates finality and transience.  Everything stops moving and mattering.  Equilibrium is reestablished and balance pervades each silent mind, every stilled heart.  There is no longer motion or causation to throw it off.

This is the end.  It does not hurt, it does not heal.  It simply is.  Until it ceases to be.