It is said that an end is a beginning. But sometimes, an end is just an end. A brutal, burly, boiling, burdening, begrudging, brain-twisting END. The heart breaks and those pieces cannot be mended again. Perhaps some pieces will come together, over time, to create a new heart. Maybe more weathered, more weary, more weighted heart. But perhaps it can be whole again, with time. But the heart breaks nonetheless. That’s a finite futile fiery end. The tears follow and sometimes the rage. And the hand reaches to a pint of ice creams, or a bottle of wine, or some other form of escapism. If only to escape the pain of the end. But no escape changes the fact that an end is an END. An eery, elusive, emerging end that is unrepairable. Broken for good. But there is nothing good in an end. Until we are long past it, and then maybe the end from far in the future looks meaningful, moving, marvelous in its lesson. Maybe only in the future we see the end as a beginning. Of something. Of what, we do not know. We have to wallow, get lost, dwell on the end first.
Only through the tunnel we can get to an exit.
In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman