They had found the ending wasn’t difficult. The beginning of the end was. The anticipation burned like the love they had once felt. The time invested had been reduced to clamoring for hope. The allure of hope is that it is immeasurable and cloaked in mystery. We measure great moments of the past by “what ifs.” The paradigm of hope is that it allows us to live in veiled references to how things should be. The brevity of reality brings about the death of hope and we watch as it dissipates into an end. We rest on our laurels ready to resurrect hope to create a beginning in a vision where hope will fuel an eternal love that meets no end. Anticipation creates desires that flow from us in a cup that has no bottom but is quickly desiccated by the cruelty of reality. And it is there – that end we knew could always come – that isn’t necessarily what is difficult but that anticipation that it might trump the hope we had conjured and rested upon, realizing it is now no more.