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Until the End

Meaning doesn’t arrive when we demand it — it forms slowly, in repetition, in waiting, in the spaces between one thought and the next. The self we defend so carefully is often just a story we tell to keep moving, even when nothing feels resolved. There’s a quiet tension in existing without closure, as if life is asking us to endure what we can’t explain. Maybe the point isn’t to be saved from emptiness, but to learn what it reveals about us. And if we can’t change the outcome, we can still choose how we remain.