There is too much tension in a finale that approaches yet never arrives.
Days filled with fear, weeks of anxiety, a year of dread and anticipation.
A when, not an if. The exit sign glowing at the end of the hall, a hallway that shrinks and stretches in ways I cannot begin to comprehend. Yet there are times when the door is clearly open and the wall behind seems to shove me through.
Then I blink and find myself back at the end of this ever shifting, seemingly infinite, hall.
Was it a warning? When you told me the end was coming. Or was it just a notification? The anticipation drained from this moment, one may call this event anticlimactic. There is no explosion, the wick reached its end and all the followed was silence and an empty home.














