The Raven

Nobody likes endings. We fight them. We delay them. We replay them in our minds and convince ourselves that if we had just said one more thing, done one more thing, or held on a little longer, maybe the story would’ve ended differently. I’ve been there. A relationship ends. A friendship fades. A job changes. A dream falls apart. A chapter closes that you never wanted to see end. And for a while, all you can focus on is what you’ve lost. But life has taught me something the raven seems to understand. An ending and a failure are not the same thing. Some chapters are supposed to end. Not because they were bad. Not because they didn’t matter. But because they accomplished what they were meant to accomplish. The hardest part is realizing that the page has already turned while you’re still trying to reread the last chapter. I’ve spent too much of my life staring at closed doors, wondering why they shut. Looking back now, many of those doors were actually protecting me from a future that wasn’t meant for me. What felt like an ending was often a redirection. What felt like loss was often preparation. What felt like darkness was often the space needed for something new to begin. The raven sits quietly between what was and what will be. It doesn’t mourn the setting sun forever. It waits for the next dawn. Maybe that’s the lesson. Don’t spend so much time grieving the chapter that ended that you miss the story that’s trying to begin. Because sometimes the greatest thing that ever happens to you arrives disguised as a goodbye.