Every romantic movie in the history of the world has a wrapped-up happy ending. Sure, at some point there's a break-up, an argument, a lonely walk in the rain, but it ends up resolving itself. Everything turns up alright, which makes those movies as far from real life as possible. What happens if one of those movies ended in the middle, right at the point where it all fell apart? What if that was it, if the characters moved on and went away and their story, not their individual stories, but the one they shared, was abruptly over?
It starts at the beginning- doesn't everything? Actually, a little before the beginning. When a house is being built, it starts out an empty lot. The foundation is the beginning, the empty space is the prelude. The prelude: acquaintances then friends, friends then best friends, constantly bickering but trusting each other when it came to matters of importance. It was easy, and when that ease became effortless the beginning manifested: a glance there, a smile there, small moments of something more, something that both terrifies and intrigues them. A decision is made, partially subconsciously, and then they're dating, officially: more smiles, more arguments, but now they're all resolved with a kiss. Dances, pictures, gifts. A whispered conversation in a dark movie theater.
But then the arguments stop ending, they only pause, lying in wait for an instance of conflict to come back, snarling and fierce and immortal, indifferent to the helpless way they press their lips together, closing their eyes and hoping that when they open them the monster will be gone. Now every moment of happiness spawns more anger, more fear, more bitter feuds. It's hard to ignore the blatant truth, but still they try, hiding the pain behind a fake smile, gripping their hands together as if their sweaty palms can defeat fate.
Like dominoes, once one admits what's happening, the other does, too. This is the crumbling, the point at which they simultaneously realize that they're fighting a losing battle. There is nothing left to do. No more pretending, no more acting, no more ghosting through the night convincing themselves that they are in love.
One hammer falls, then another, and it's final. It's obvious; there's evidence. There's sorrow, there's awkwardness, there's another non-ending. No conclusion, no denouement, no happily ever after. A sudden end, like pages torn from a book. Their epilogue is aftermath, broken pieces that will never fit together again. Not ever, even if they kiss in the rain, even if they sing together, even if they share a dramatic scene in an airport.
Nothing can ever be the same. This is not the end, it is a discontinuation. No closure; they will never speak again. They've forgotten the words.
A/N: Don't you just love a happy ending?