That’s why I like your stories the way they are; I’m allowed to use my own imagination, my own ability to fill in the blanks. Perhaps the mood I’m in will determine one ending from another making your one story into thousands upon thousands of epics, all in their own universes, all becoming part of me, but all started by those wonderful words of yours.

In the end, it’s your decision; If you feel that a great story needs closure, then I’ll trust that you’ll end it well. I won’t promise that sometimes I’ll go back to look at how it all began, close my eyes and weave a mental tapestry of what could have been, even though it’s already stored away and tarnishing in your own view. I just can’t let go, I suppose. I don’t ever want to let go, even when I open my clenched eyes and see that what I wanted to hold onto has been gone for some time. Part of me hopes and wishes that if I just close my eyes a little longer and wish a little harder, it’ll all be mine again.

Stories, your stories, mean that much to me.