For When It’s Gone. And I willfully missed it | by Chess’ Pieces | ILLUMINATION | Nov, 2025

The End is a concept I seem to struggle with.

Not intellectually.

But rather, it seems no matter how many times we’ve been acquainted, even shared a meal, I only manage to identify it once it has packed up and gone. Taking with it the cutlery we shared. The plates and even the table we sat at. Leaving me too dumbfounded to confess ‘’I really thought it would last forever’’.

I suppose it’s human nature to savour the ‘’now’’. To hold on and enjoy every minute of that warm embrace, that book, that longing gaze, that meal, that smile, that friend, that love.

Despite having experienced The End, be it like the first drops of rain or a missed step down a staircase, we try to live our lives blindfolded to its existence.

Only to be gripped by shock when it comes and leaves.

My sister recently moved from home for university to a city 3 hours away.

In the weeks preceding the move, we’d made plans to watch movies, visit the national botanical garden and maybe even a museum.

During those weeks, I saw The End rolling in like a grey cloud on blue skies over a space my sister and I had created for the past 20 years. Where people would walk in and wonder if we really did have an age difference of 4 years or if we hadn’t been conceived together.

I saw it spread across till no blues could be seen, only felt; something akin to a well growing within.

And so I lunged for my blindfold. Making sure to knot it around twice.

Tight.

To live in a reality where ‘’now’’ was eternal, and rushing a fool’s pursuit had its appeal, and I relished it. Letting the parks and museums become an ‘’eventually’’ which The End soon enough packed with it.

Because, although I chose to ignore the obvious, one day I found myself standing on a platform, hand in the air, waving at my sister as she huffed and buffed her suitcase and bags into the train. She looked at me and smiled, waving back, and I felt the first drops of rain hit my forehead.

The conductor blew her whistle. The train sounded its engine and gently started to roll off.

I moved beside it, now feeling the raindrops fall heavier, rolling down my cheeks; a mixture of saltwater and rainwater. I tried holding back to no avail.

Until I finally stood there, watching the train journey further out of sight, realising I never fully accepted she’d be gone, until she was gone.

Until moments now turned into memories, and the ‘’eventually’’ into ‘’could’ve been’’.

And now I cry through a smile, knowing what’s been done has been done, but happy I might be starting to distinguish The End’s face a little better, letting it come and letting it be understood a little easier.

Because at least now, I know I would rather spend the beginnings of the ends knowing and ready for what’s to come, than remain blissfully ignorant only to be made painfully aware that what is now was.

And that I willfully missed it.

The End.