And okay, fair enough, but there is this unwritten contract between author and reader and I think not ending your book kind of violates that contract.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

I thought you hung the moon.

At least I carpe'd that one diem.

The world is not a wish-granting factory.

You should see it. V for Vendetta I mean. "I'll look it up." No. With Me. At my house. Now

What matters to you defines your mattering.