No Closure. Have you ever read the book Life of Pi? It's about a boy trapped at sea on a lifeboat with a tiger. And eventually, over time, he starts thinking of the tiger as his companion in the struggle for survival, kinda like the Wilson volleyball in Tom Hanks' Cast Away.

Anyways, towards the end of the book, when they finally reach shore, the tiger just hops out of the boat and dashes away into the wilderness, never looking back once. And it bothers the boy for the rest of his life: he wishes the tiger would've just looked back one last time, made eye contact, or SOMEhow acknowledged their time together with some sort of goodbye or something, so he could have closure. But it kills him that the tiger just walked out of his life so easily, never pausing for a goodbye, as if their time together had meant nothing.

The goodbye is crucial. Any kind of ending, whether it be good or bad, is better than nothing. How can you let go if your heart never gets a chance to say goodbye?

Why couldn't the string have just been cut, harshly OR gently, (or been left a promise of being mended) instead of being left so frayed, so helpless?