What happens when we go home?
It's all our business, no one else's.
So why are we always asked what happened over the weekend?
Or in the moment we missed, thinking about homework from another class?
So what happens now? You ask, as the story came to a close, answers still missing, not knowing where to go.
Now you write your own ending, I say. But thinking never really was your forte was it? For you the story will always be unfinished.
A mystery always in the making.
Don't blame me when you lie, sleepless at night, thinking what if.
But that's how the story ends for some, never finished because of no imagination. But don't fret, my friend, the story is always written again.