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That night it rained, as it always did when he got thinking. The drops were heavy and constant, thwamping on leaves as they fell, splatting and plopping on the hard ground below. He felt the torrent coming and knew it was time for a walk; it was time to be alone. Unsure of a destination, he began wandering. Things end, as they have to eventually, and he sensed the end was near. The wind was quiet, faintly altering the droplets' direction, their course occasionally disrupted by leaves as they maintained an inevitable descent. As the globules plummeted so did his thoughts.

It was over; the signs were apparent. The rain persisted, pattering on his hood, adding further noise to the raging storm. His only hope was for a clean break from the endeavor, a memory to cherish for years. He had neither of these. There would never be a finale to the story.

A bird fluttered by, seeking shelter in a nearby tree. He was never good at brooding in a corner, it was so much easier to brood in the open, and of course, there was the rain to look forward to. The memories trickled back into focus, clear as the moment they occurred. Every second, every instance, still burned brightly, and every single one tainted by the realization that their story was over. The recollections could always bring a true smile, for the briefest of seconds; rapidly fading into the typical haunted one, a smile tarnished by the disappointments of reality. In his dreams, where time was irrelevant and reality would never set in, the memories would remain pure and would last forever.

He knew it was over, but failed to grasp why. One question played across his mind in every possible configuration: Why? Shadows danced through the park, taunting him, hiding the answers just out of reach. He stopped and sat on a bench near a particularly dark patch as his gaze rested on the looming/foreboding trees. By now the rain had ended, but the torrent continued, and could for weeks.

As he waited on the bench a phone chirped to life, quietly reminding him of its presence. With a few clicks the device displayed a single photo. It was the typical photo; subject slanted and off center, a quickly captured memory, with patience came the answer. As the thousand words poured from that photo he understood why. It was over, it had to be.