the worst part is that i'll never know his side of the story. if he cried, if it hurt him, if he regretted his decision, or if he just kept living like i never existed. and maybe that's the part i have to learn to live with. not every ending comes with answers. some people leave without explaining anything, and you're left replaying every moment trying to understand where it all changed. but no matter how many questions i carry, life keeps moving. maybe closure isn't always hearing the truth from them. maybe it's slowly accepting that some stories end without the final conversation you hoped for, and choosing to heal anyway.