It's not the endings that will haunt you,
But the space where they should lie,
The things that simply faded,
Without one final wave goodbye.
Like a book with torn-out pages,
Forgetting things you're sure you knew,
A question with no answer,
And a song stopped halfway through,
So when your mind attempts to store them,
Their crooked shape will never fit,
And forever in the corners,
Of your consciousness, they sit.
Jagged edges made from moments,
You can't be quite sure were the last,
Slicing open thoughts that healed,
As they attempt to slip right past,
You see, not knowing is what haunts you,
The memories that never mend,
For they're puzzles missing pieces,
Of all the things that didn't.