The season's ended, the chapter closed,
Winter's chill begins, yet your warmth remains.
No goodbyes were spoken, leaving me
To wonder if the story's truly ended,
Or just paused, like thunder before the rain.

Can the writer claim the end,
Without a final word?
Or does the silence mark the ending, 
or leave space for more to unfold?

I've told myself the story's done,
But my heart rebels, longing for
Continuation, despite the uncertain
Trails that wind and twist, without a clear path.
Would more pages bring solace or prolong the pain?

Will I ever find peace in the silence,
Or will the unwritten words forever hold
My heart, like a promise unfulfilled?
Perhaps the journey, not the destination holds the answer I seek.