I was in the next room when I heard it.
A door closed.
Not slammed.
Not dramatic.
Just a door.
Closing.
It made me pause.
Not because of the door,
but because of what it reminded me of.
How many times a day something in life closes quietly and I don't hear it because I'm too busy bracing for what might open, or for what already has.
That sound was ordinary.
But it landed.
It said, this part is done.
Without asking me if I was ready.
Maybe I can trust more of those endings.
They seem to know what I don't.