I am not convinced closure is real.
It feels like a concept invented to make chaos behave. As if every hurt is supposed to come with a neat explanation, a final conversation, a moral bow tied at the end. Sometimes things just happen. No villain monologue. No grand intention. Life moves forward anyway, dragging the unanswered bits behind it.
Most of the time, it is not malicious. One person is hurt. The other is confused. Then nothing moves. A stalemate formsβnot dramatic, just heavy.
Eventually, someone leaves. Often not because they have βprocessedβ everything, but because they realise they are standing alone and no one else has noticed.
You can choose to walk away.
Or you can choose hopeβthe fragile kind that says, this will not happen again, and maybe it does not. That path requires restraint: not everything needs to be dissected, diagrammed, or dragged under fluorescent light.
Sometimes the most radical thing someone can say is: βI hear you. I do not want this to repeat either. Let us do better.β
If that sentence cannot exist, then moving on is not failure. It is mercy.
Underneath self-helpβs snarky frosting I believe closure is not a ceremony, it is a decision. An action word like love or planting parsnips.
No one is meant to live in purgatory.
Or New Jersey.
(And yes, I am aware these are not the same thing.
Sort of.)
