I Need Closure Quotes

And as much as I'm telling her to stay here, I still want her to choose to come with me. To say fuck sanity and healing and closure. To say that I am the only thing she needs to be well and whole and alive. But we both know that's not true.

It wasn’t closure, really. But I’d said the right things. I’d hit on some truths. Maybe some things didn’t get closure. Maybe some things weren’t really worth it, or didn’t really need it, and after a while the unimportance would become obvious.

Your father abandoned us. (Zephyra) I know. You’ve told me that enough that it’s permanently seared into my brain. Still, he’s a part of me and I’d like to have closure. (Medea) You really need to stop watching Oprah. (Zephyra)

I decided that I needed to see my replacement for closure. It was crazy really, but we are all entitled to a little bit of stalking.

Some people say, “Once you learn to be happy, you won't tolerate being around people who make you feel anything less.” My Christ says, “Your job is to get off your self righteous butt and start reaching out to the difficult people because my ministry wasn’t about a bunch of nice people getting together once a week to sing hymns and get a feel good message, that you may or may not apply, depending on the depth of your anger for someone. It is about caring for and helping the broken hearted, the difficult, the hurt, the misunderstood, the repulsive, the wicked and the liars. It is about turning the other cheek when someone hurts you. It is about loving one another and making amends. It is allowing people as many chances as they need because God gives them endless chances. When you do this then you will know me and you will know true happiness and peace. Until then, you will never know who I really am. You will always be just a fan or a Sunday only warrior. You will continue to represent who you are to the world, but not me. I am the God that rescues.

It's been a long, hard road, but I've finally found the closure I need to move on. I've learned to accept that my all is not always going to be enough and love is neither owned nor earned; it either is or it's not. I gave you the world, but you wanted the stars.

I am a runner. Not an actual runner, like with shoes and sweat. Instead, I specialize in leaving uncomfortable situations with alarming speed. Some people need closure, I need space.

I think it is in grief that we need some reminder of our humanity--and sometimes, someone to say it for us. Poetry steps in at those moments when ordinary words fail: poetry as ceremony, as closure to what cannot be closed.

Dear Jack: I have no idea who he was. But he saved me. From you. I watched from the doorway as he smacked, punched, and threw you against the wall. You fought back hard- I'll give you that- but you were no match for him. And when it was over- when you'd finally passed out- the boy made direct eye contact with me. He removed the rag from my mouth and asked me if I was okay. 'Yes. I mean, I think so,' I told him. But it was her that he was really interested in: the girl who was lying unconscious on the floor. Her eyes were swollen, and there looked to be a trail of blood running from her nose. The boy wiped her face with a rag. And then he kissed her, and held her, and ran his hand over her cheek, finally grabbing his cell to dial 911. He was wearing gloves, which I thought was weird. Maybe he was concerned about his fingerprints, from breaking in. But once he hung up, he removed the gloves, took the girl's hand, and placed it on the front of his leg- as if it were some magical hot spot that would make her better somehow. Tears welled up in his eyes as he apologized for not getting there sooner. 'I'm so sorry,' he just kept saying. And suddenly I felt sorry too. Apparently it was the anniversary of something tragic that'd happened. I couldn't really hear him clearly, but I was pretty sure he'd mentioned visiting an old girlfriend's grave. 'You deserve someone better,' he told her. 'Someone who'll be open and honest; who won't be afraid to share everything with you.' He draped his sweatshirt over her, kissed her behind the ear, and then promised to love her forever. A couple minutes later, another boy came in, all out of breath. 'Is she alright?' he asked. The boy who saved me stood up, wiped his tearful eyes, and told the other guy to sit with her until she woke up. And then he went to find scissors for me. He cut me free and brought me out to the sofa. 'My name's Ben,' he said. 'And help is on the way.' When the girl finally did wake up, Ben allowed the other guy to take credit for saving her life. I wanted to ask him why, but I haven't been able to speak. That's what this letter is for. My therapist says that I need to tell my side of things in order to regain my voice. She suggested that addressing my thoughts directly to you might help provide some closure. So far, it hasn't done the trick. Never your Jill, Rachael

Or was the “something” that had changed . . . me? There comes a moment in every relationship when taking up permanent residence in the gray area between what is and what isn’t is no longer enough. When the need for clarity surpasses the need to make things work. When you start to realize that the constant limbo of an undefined relationship isn’t as fun as it was when the music first started. When you have to seek your own closure, because the other person cannot or will not give it to you.

I forgive you.’ This statement suggests attachment. If you have forgiven someone to close their chapter from your life, you won’t feel the need of saying it to them. They will just stop existing for you.

Trust me when I say there are no answers he can provide that will make you feel better right now.  It’s normal to want closure, but realize you’re the only one that needs it.  He doesn’t.  Know if a man loves you he will always make you his priority.  It’s that simple.  You will never have to question his love for you, because his actions will never place a single doubt in your mind.  Don’t ever settle for a man who doesn’t make you his priority in his life and be smart enough to recognize when he doesn’t make you one. 

Maybe learning to live with the question marks, recognizing that closure does not always occur, is all I really needed to do. I hadn't expected, coming from a world that fights to see life's beginnings in black and white, to be so comforted by a shade of gray. The notion of the water child made sense to me. What I had experienced was not a full life, nor was it a full death, but it was a real loss.

I am not going to think of what closure might mean for Deirdre. She's still out there somewhere. One way or another, she's coming home. Fuck closure. We won't need it.

I referred to the innate human need for what psychologist Arie Kruglanski was the first to label “cognitive closure,” which he defined as “the individual’s need for a firm answer to a question and aversion to ambiguity.”[ 3]

I want to be released from what won’t let me go. I want uncomplicated joy. But I see now that, without realizing it, I’ve been waiting for permission—from Melissa, from Will, from all the people who have disappeared from my life before a sense of closure could be reached. I want their blessings to fall in love again, to dream a new future, to move forward. I keep waiting for some kind of sign, or reassurance that it’s okay to go entire days without thinking of them—that it’s necessary to forget a little if I am going to live. No matter how many apologies, acts of contrition, or sacrifices I offer up, I’m realizing I need to accept that things may never feel fully resolved—with the living or the dead. —

Closure? That was not what our discussion at the brewery had been about. We’d needed to clear the air. I’d needed to tell her my side of the story and hear hers. Yeah, I’d wanted to mend the past. But closure? “Fuck no.” This wasn’t over.

I fooled myself into believing I was after closure, when all I really wanted was never to let go. Because, as Alison’s scar was her most sacred vanity, her death was mine. Because I needed a murder mystery. Without one, what choice did I have but to be angry at Alison for making herself so indispensable to me, to all of us, and then being so careless with herself? (Drinking and drugs, a reckless swim, a stupid accident. The police had suggested this basic scenario from the beginning, but my parents had refused to accept it. Why would they have? Why would anyone accept such a sad and pointless story, a tale that was not even cautionary but simply tragic, a shame?) What choice was there, finally, but to admit that I hated Alison every bit as much as I loved her? I hated her while she was alive for the way her dazzling, spectacular self took up the entire spotlight, and I hated her even more for the oppressive shadow she cast with her death. How could I ever be enough? How could I possibly compare to someone who never had to grow up?

Closure? That was not what our discussion at the brewery had been about. We’d needed to clear the air. I’d needed to tell her my side of the story and hear hers. Yeah, I’d wanted to mend the past. But closure? “Fuck no.” This wasn’t over. The game hadn’t even started yet.

It doesn’t, but I’m not leaving a single piece of myself in there. Not my favorite chips. Not a toothbrush. I want to disappear from his life. Just poof,”—she snaps her fingers—“gone, like I never existed in that penthouse. For a while, I felt like he deserved an explanation. But I don’t think he does anymore. That was the only closure I needed.

Most of us do not like not being able to see what others see or make sense of something new. We do not like it when things do not come together and fit nicely for us. That is why most popular movies have Hollywood endings. The public prefers a tidy finale. And we especially do not like it when things are contradictory, because then it is much harder to reconcile them (this is particularly true for Westerners). This sense of confusion triggers in a us a feeling of noxious anxiety. It generates tension. So we feel compelled to reduce it, solve it, complete it, reconcile it, make it make sense. And when we do solve these puzzles, there's relief. It feels good. We REALLY like it when things come together. What I am describing is a very basic human psychological process, captured by the second Gestalt principle. It is what we call the 'press for coherence.' It has been called many different things in psychology: consonance, need for closure, congruity, harmony, need for meaning, the consistency principle. At its core it is the drive to reduce the tension, disorientation, and dissonance that come from complexity, incoherence, and contradiction. In the 1930s, Bluma Zeigarnik, a student of Lewin's in Berlin, designed a famous study to test the impact of this idea of tension and coherence. Lewin had noticed that waiters in his local cafe seemed to have better recollections of unpaid orders than of those already settled. A lab study was run to examine this phenomenon, and it showed that people tend to remember uncompleted tasks, like half-finished math or word problems, better than completed tasks. This is because the unfinished task triggers a feeling of tension, which gets associated with the task and keeps it lingering in our minds. The completed problems are, well, complete, so we forget them and move on. They later called this the 'Zeigarnik effect,' and it has influenced the study of many things, from advertising campaigns to coping with the suicide of loved ones to dysphoric rumination of past conflicts.

I remember the pain in Connor’s eyes when he spoke of his mother, and I know my own when I think of mine. It’s hard to lose a parent. They created you, molded you into the person you are, and when they aren’t there any longer, it’s as though a piece of your whole existence is gone. I’ve grappled with losing both of mine in an instant. There was no goodbye or chance to say things we needed to. I have no closure, and I hope that Connor did get some, no matter how much it probably isn’t a comfort.

I cannot, will not, tell the full story of my next few hours. I'll only say that I found what I knew I must: the sun-bleached bones of everyone I'd once loved. Even knowing what I would find, I was unprepared for the knife of pain that cut through me. I half fell, half dismounted, from my pony. Kneeling on the ground, I gave in to the grief I'd held at bay for so long. I howled like an animal. I beat my fists against my chest. I wept. I don't know how long it went on. Time disappears, I suppose, when you need it to.

Tell me you're bare underneath the dress." She gulped. "I'm bare underneath this dress." Gently dropping her arms back to her sides, he slid his finger down the center of her chest. Tingles shot out from the tips of her breasts and gathered at the base of her spine, between her legs. "Tell me you want me as much as I want you," he said, his voice husky. Never had she imagined doing something as reckless as sleeping with a guy for one night. But this wasn't any guy. And it wasn't just about her getting off--God, how she needed to do that. It was about closure. Saying goodbye on her terms. It might be a bad idea, but it was the best bad idea she'd ever had. She dropped the panties and put her hands on his chest. "I want you.

In the power of my newfound strength, I saw clearly—even though I’d been empowered to have my old college finally address my “horrific trauma,” make me finally feel heard, this event would never have happened had I not first given myself my own voice, the permission to call my rape rape and not shame. In telling, I forced the school that silenced me, that minimized my trauma, that blamed me for the rape, to finally respect my voice and give me the platform they should have given me in the first place. I did not need the school to call it by its name; I did it myself, and they listened. I was the powerful party that brought the closure and empowerment I’d hoped, in first finding their invitation, that Colorado College would bring.

See that vine?" I said to Tobble. "My siblings and I used to swing out from it, then land in the lake." I gave a small laugh. "Well, they did anyway. I was too afraid." "You? Afraid?" "Always and forever," I said. "I'm beginning to think that's how life works." "Are we stopping here?" Tobble asked. "The horses are well watered." "Yes, but I'm not. Do you know what I need, Tobble? I need a swim." I checked the icy water with a long stick to be sure it was as deep as I recalled. Two silver fish darted past. As I clambered to a low-hanging branch, I felt a familiar shiver of anticipation and dread, and for a moment, I was the old Byx, with all her hopes and fears and longings. Then I kicked off as hard as I could, swung far out over the pond, and let go.

We may need to take our labels and our experts far more lightly. Some years ago...[I heard of] a farmer who had done exceptionally well despite a dire prognosis. He had taken the same attitude toward his physician's prognosis that he took toward the words of the government soil experts who analyzed his fields. As they were educated men, he respected them and listened carefully as they showed him the findings of their tests and told him that the corn would not grow in this field. He valued their opinions. But, as he said, 'A lot of the time, the corn grows anyway.' What would it be like if more people allowed for the presence of the unknown, and accepted the words of experts in this same way? Like a diagnosis, a label is an attempt to assert control and manage uncertainty. It may allow us the security and comfort of a mental closure and encourage us not to think about things again. But life never comes to a closure, life is process, even mystery. Life is known only by those who have found a way to be comfortable with change and the unknown. Given the nature of life, there may be no security, but only adventure.

The next day, it was still raining when Lee issued his final order to his troops, known simply as General Orders Number 9. After four years of arduous service, marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources. I need not tell the brave survivors of so many hard fought battles, who have remained steadfast to the last, that I have consented to the result from no distrust of them. But feeling that valor and devotion could accomplish nothing that would compensate for the loss that must have attended the continuance of the contest, I determined to avoid the useless sacrifice of those whose past services have endeared them to their countrymen. By the terms of the agreement officers and men can return to their homes and remain until exchanged. You will take with you the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed, and I earnestly pray that a Merciful God will extended to you His blessing and protection. With an increasing admiration of your constancy and devotion to your country, and a grateful remembrance of your kind and generous considerations for myself, I bid you all an affectionate farewell. For generations, General Orders Number 9 would be recited in the South with the same pride as the Gettysburg Address was learned in the North. It is marked less by its soaring prose—the language is in fact rather prosaic—but by what it does say, bringing his men affectionate words of closure, and, just as importantly, what it doesn’t say. Nowhere does it exhort his men to continue the struggle; nowhere does it challenge the legitimacy of the Union government that had forced their surrender; nowhere does it fan the flames of discontent. In fact, Lee pointedly struck out a draft paragraph that could have been construed to do just that.

In the shock of the moment, I gave some thought to renting a convertible and driving the twenty-seven hundred miles back alone. But then I realized I was neither single nor crazy. The acting director decided that, given the FBI’s continuing responsibility for my safety, the best course was to take me back on the plane I came on, with a security detail and a flight crew who had to return to Washington anyway. We got in the vehicle to head for the airport. News helicopters tracked our journey from the L.A. FBI office to the airport. As we rolled slowly in L.A. traffic, I looked to my right. In the car next to us, a man was driving while watching an aerial news feed of us on his mobile device. He turned, smiled at me through his open window, and gave me a thumbs-up. I’m not sure how he was holding the wheel. As we always did, we pulled onto the airport tarmac with a police escort and stopped at the stairs of the FBI plane. My usual practice was to go thank the officers who had escorted us, but I was so numb and distracted that I almost forgot to do it. My special assistant, Josh Campbell, as he often did, saw what I couldn’t. He nudged me and told me to go thank the cops. I did, shaking each hand, and then bounded up the airplane stairs. I couldn’t look at the pilots or my security team for fear that I might get emotional. They were quiet. The helicopters then broadcast our plane’s taxi and takeoff. Those images were all over the news. President Trump, who apparently watches quite a bit of TV at the White House, saw those images of me thanking the cops and flying away. They infuriated him. Early the next morning, he called McCabe and told him he wanted an investigation into how I had been allowed to use the FBI plane to return from California. McCabe replied that he could look into how I had been allowed to fly back to Washington, but that he didn’t need to. He had authorized it, McCabe told the president. The plane had to come back, the security detail had to come back, and the FBI was obligated to return me safely. The president exploded. He ordered that I was not to be allowed back on FBI property again, ever. My former staff boxed up my belongings as if I had died and delivered them to my home. The order kept me from seeing and offering some measure of closure to the people of the FBI, with whom I had become very close. Trump had done a lot of yelling during the campaign about McCabe and his former candidate wife. He had been fixated on it ever since. Still in a fury at McCabe, Trump then asked him, “Your wife lost her election in Virginia, didn’t she?” “Yes, she did,” Andy replied. The president of the United States then said to the acting director of the FBI, “Ask her how it feels to be a loser” and hung up the phone.

Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes and froze. Her expression was so open, so full of tenderness and longing as well as heat that he almost balked. This was supposed to be about closure, about having the goodbye they’d never gotten last time. How was he supposed to leave after if she gave herself to him this completely? Her hand came up to cradle the side of his face, her thumb stroking back and forth across his jaw, her touch gentle and loving. “Need you,” she murmured, It was good. Even better than he remembered. Liam buried his face in the side of her neck and sucked in a breath, struggling to hang on. Being cradled in Honor’s arms, buried to the hilt inside her while she opened her body and heart to him was the most incredible thing in the world. How the f*&^ was he going to walk away later? Without warning his eyes began to sting. As though she sensed how close he was to coming unglued, Honor murmured to him and pressed kisses to the side of his face, her hand urging his head to turn toward her. Liam shook his head, unable to bear that final level of intimacy when he knew this was their last time. Keeping his face in her neck he fought back the swell of emotion and began to move, a slow, shallow rocking motion that was more profound than words could ever be. He loved her. Would always love her, but it wasn’t enough because some things couldn’t be undone and he just couldn’t let her in the way he had before. All they had left was this bittersweet farewell, and he was going to make it memorable. .... A lump settled in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, torn between the excruciating pleasure swelling inside him and the need to see her face as he took her this last time. In the end, his heart won out. Powerless to stop himself, he lifted his head and looked down at her. Anguish sliced through his chest when he saw the tears glistening in her beautiful eyes. Don’t. Don’t cry. Shit, he didn’t want either of them to hurt anymore. He was sick of hurting. That’s why he was ending it all tonight. With a low sound of regret he covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding against hers as he took her. Honor kissed him back deep and slow... Cupping her cheek with his free hand he gave her everything he had left to give, allowing his emotional shields to drop for these final moments. She ran her fingertips up and down his back in a soothing motion, her body limp and pliant beneath his, legs still wrapped around him. And all of a sudden he felt like crying. He felt too much, was in too deep again. He didn’t know what to say to make this any easier. After what they’d just shared he was more conflicted than ever about what to do. “I’ll miss you,” she murmured, and he caught the slight catch in her voice. Ah, fu&%. He gritted his teeth. It would be so much easier if they could just hate each other. For a moment he considered saying something to make her do exactly that, but couldn’t. Even he wasn’t enough of an a**hole to end things that way. And that look on her face… Against his better judgment, Liam sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. Honor went willingly into his embrace, pressing her face to his chest as she hugged him tight in return. “I’ll miss you too.” Dammit, he should never have come here tonight. “I wish it could be different, but I just… I can’t do this anymore.” I’ll always love you but I can’t afford to let you back in again. “I’m sorry.

I think we both need the closure, I know I do and there are things that you just don’t understand.” My voice drips with disdain. “You’re not looking for closure, you’re looking for forgiveness.” Unspeakable Truths - © 2014 A.M. Tribue “Fuck forgiveness! I don’t need your forgiveness or anyone else’s for that matter. What I need is for you to understand, for you to see that I would never do anything to hurt Tyler.

I ask the anti-label people to think twice, before they criticize our need to call ourselves Autistic People. We are Autistic People, and we now have a term many of us use: Au
So, it is for our identity, healing, closure and true self-actualization that we become rightfully diagnosed and/or self-identify as autistic. 

This is the last place that I should be, but I just need closure about the things my mother did to me when I was younger.

The idea made me sad. But it also felt like closure. And I badly needed some of that.

The lack of answers, of any semblance of closure, is infuriating. The more questions I don’t get answers to, the more questions I have. The more questions I have, the more questions I don’t get answers to, and I’m driving myself crazy in the process of trying to find them. I need someone I can vent to, a sounding board, a voice of reason.

Well into my teaching career, I learned that good and bad play are usually a matter of having a script that works or one that needs to be rewritten. Once you begin to depend on storytelling and story acting, you start looking at your classrooms as theater. The children are constantly imagining characters and plots and, when they have a chance, with each other, acting out little stories. You can look at the children and yourself as actors. "Well, this hasn't worked. We'd better think of a better way to pretend this story." What seems to be a chaotic scene, one we might call bad play, is simply a scene that lacks closure for one or more characters. The teacher's role is to help the children make up a new scene. The children become used to the teachers - or even other children - saying, "This isn't working. We need to tell the story of what were doing with each other. What characters are we playing? And what needs to be played in a different way so that the play does not have to stop?" (via a Meghan Dombrick-Green interview with Vivian Paley 2001)

That's a lot to lose in one moment. And even though I know it's over, I don't want to confront him. I just want to walk away and be done with him. I don't want to need closure or even an explanation, but I'm scared I'll need both of those things when I'm alone tonight.

I need ‘closure’ as people say these days. Though you can never close the past. The most you can do with it is accept it.

Having seen Atlas tonight and knowing he has a girlfriend and a job and more than likely a home is enough closure I need on that chapter. And if I just finish the damn journal, I can put it back in the shoebox and never have to open it again.

Managing the Neutral Zone: A Checklist Yes No   ___ ___ Have I done my best to normalize the neutral zone by explaining it as an uncomfortable time that (with careful attention) can be turned to everyone’s advantage? ___ ___ Have I redefined the neutral zone by choosing a new and more affirmative metaphor with which to describe it? ___ ___ Have I reinforced that metaphor with training programs, policy changes, and financial rewards for people to keep doing their jobs during the neutral zone? ___ ___ Am I protecting people adequately from inessential further changes? ___ ___ If I can’t protect them, am I clustering those changes meaningfully? ___ ___ Have I created the temporary policies and procedures that we need to get us through the neutral zone? ___ ___ Have I created the temporary roles, reporting relationships, and organizational groupings that we need to get us through the neutral zone? ___ ___ Have I set short-range goals and checkpoints? ___ ___ Have I set realistic output objectives? ___ ___ Have I found the special training programs we need to deal successfully with the neutral zone? ___ ___ Have I found ways to keep people feeling that they still belong to the organization and are valued by our part of it? And have I taken care that perks and other forms of “privilege” are not undermining the solidarity of the group? ___ ___ Have I set up one or more Transition Monitoring Teams to keep realistic feedback flowing upward during the time in the neutral zone? ___ ___ Are my people willing to experiment and take risks in intelligently conceived ventures—or are we punishing all failures? ___ ___ Have I stepped back and taken stock of how things are being done in my part of the organization? (This is worth doing both for its own sake and as a visible model for others’ similar efforts.) ___ ___ Have I provided others with opportunities to do the same thing? Have I provided them with the resources—facilitators, survey instruments, and so on—that will help them do that? ___ ___ Have I seen to it that people build their skills in creative thinking and innovation? ___ ___ Have I encouraged experimentation and seen to it that people are not punished for failing in intelligent efforts that do not pan out? ___ ___ Have I worked to transform the losses of our organization into opportunities to try doing things a new way? ___ ___ Have I set an example by brainstorming many answers to old problems—the ones that people say we just have to live with? Am I encouraging others to do the same? ___ ___ Am I regularly checking to see that I am not pushing for certainty and closure when it would be more conducive to creativity to live a little longer with uncertainty and questions? ___ ___ Am I using my time in the neutral zone as an opportunity to replace bucket brigades with integrated systems throughout the organization?

Closure is what it sounds like to me, and that’s exactly what I need in order to have a happy and healthy relationship with David.

Association of dissimilar ideas “I had earlier devised an arrangement for beam steering on the two-mile accelerator which reduced the amount of hardware necessary by a factor of two…. Two weeks ago it was pointed out to me that this scheme would steer the beam into the wall and therefore was unacceptable. During the session, I looked at the schematic and asked myself how could we retain the factor of two but avoid steering into the wall. Again a flash of inspiration, in which I thought of the word ‘alternate.’ I followed this to its logical conclusion, which was to alternate polarities sector by sector so the steering bias would not add but cancel. I was extremely impressed with this solution and the way it came to me.” “Most of the insights come by association.” “It was the last idea that I thought was remarkable because of the way in which it developed. This idea was the result of a fantasy that occurred during Wagner…. [The participant had earlier listened to Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries.’] I put down a line which seemed to embody this…. I later made the handle which my sketches suggested and it had exactly the quality I was looking for…. I was very amused at the ease with which all of this was done.” 10. Heightened motivation to obtain closure “Had tremendous desire to obtain an elegant solution (the most for the least).” “All known constraints about the problem were simultaneously imposed as I hunted for possible solutions. It was like an analog computer whose output could not deviate from what was desired and whose input was continually perturbed with the inclination toward achieving the output.” “It was almost an awareness of the ‘degree of perfection’ of whatever I was doing.” “In what seemed like ten minutes, I had completed the problem, having what I considered (and still consider) a classic solution.” 11. Visualizing the completed solution “I looked at the paper I was to draw on. I was completely blank. I knew that I would work with a property three hundred feet square. I drew the property lines (at a scale of one inch to forty feet), and I looked at the outlines. I was blank…. Suddenly I saw the finished project. [The project was a shopping center specializing in arts and crafts.] I did some quick calculations …it would fit on the property and not only that …it would meet the cost and income requirements …it would park enough cars …it met all the requirements. It was contemporary architecture with the richness of a cultural heritage …it used history and experience but did not copy it.” “I visualized the result I wanted and subsequently brought the variables into play which could bring that result about. I had great visual (mental) perceptibility; I could imagine what was wanted, needed, or not possible with almost no effort. I was amazed at my idealism, my visual perception, and the rapidity with which I could operate.

MT: These texts are at one and the same time very beautiful and obscure; they need to be explicated, clarified. “What is hidden will be revealed.” Why must Revelation be hidden? RG: It's not that it must be hidden, actually it's not hidden at all. It's mankind that is blind. We're inside the closure of representation, everyone is in the fishbowl of his or her culture. In other words, mankind doesn't see what I was saying earlier, the principle of illusion that governs our viewpoint. Even after the Revelation, we still don't understand. MT: Does that mean that things are going to emerge gradually, but that at first they're incomprehensible? RG: They seem incomprehensible because mankind lives under the sign of Satan, lives a lie and lives in fear of the lie, in fear of liars. The reversal performed by the Passion has yet to occur. MT: Insofar as the Church itself has been mistaken for two thousand years and has been practicing a sacrificial reading of the Passion of the Christ, that reading is a way of hiding Revelation. RG: I'm not saying that the Church is mistaken. The reading that I'm proposing is in line with all the great dogmas, but it endows them with an anthropological underpinning that had gone unnoticed. MT: Why not just clean up our bad habits by sweeping them away once and for all in the year zero, making way for an era of love and infinite peace? RG: Because the world wouldn't have been able to take it! Since the sacrificial principle is the fundamental principle of the human order—up to a certain point human beings need to pour out their violence and tensions onto scapegoats—destroying it all at once is impossible. That's why Christianity is made in such a way as to allow for transitions. This is no doubt one of the reasons why it is at once so far from and so close to myth, and always susceptible to being interpreted a bit mythically. When Nietzsche says that Christianity is impossible, that it can only lead to absurdities, to outrageous, insane things, it can be said that he's superficially right, even if ultimately he's wrong. You can't get rid of the sacrificial principle by just flicking it away as if it were a piece of dust. History isn't finished. Every day very interesting things, changes in outlook, are happening right before our eyes. In the United States and everywhere, a lot of current cultural phenomena can be unified by describing them as the discovery of new victims, or rather as their concrete rehabilitation, for in truth we've known about them for a long time: women, children, the elderly, the insane, the physically and mentally handicapped, and so forth. For example, the question of abortion, which has great importance in American debates, is no longer formulated except in the following terms: “Who is the real victim? Is it the child or is it the mother?” You can no longer defend a given position, or indeed any of them, except by making it into a contribution to the anti-victimary crusade. MT

Not only are you curious but also there is a need for closure, to see the thing through. Buying an item creates tension in the form of wanting. I want the object and the release of tension I seek comes in the form of the purchase.

She shivered under his touch, desire dampening her panties and making her clench her thighs together in an attempt to find some relief. His devilish hands relaxed their grip on her hips and slid around to cup her ass, pulling her close. Thick, hard evidence of his desire pressed against her belly. God, she wanted this man, and not just to silent the stressful thoughts always swirling in her head. She wanted him, not just the divine moment of oblivion that blocked out everything else. The realization scared her and brought some unwanted reality into the room. "We shouldn't be doing this." "Why?" He made quick work of the buttons on her petal-pink cashmere sweater and parted her cardigan. Sean gave a soft growl as he stared at her silver satin pushup bra that presented her boobs like an all-you-can-lick buffet. "Because I'm your employee?" He licked his lips and slid his thumb across the satin covering her hard nipple. "Yes," she said, sighing. An answer to his question or a response to even the lightest of touches? Both. "Easy fix." He snapped the front closure of her bra and her tits tumbled out. "I quit." Bending forward, he lifted one heavy globe and took the hard nub into his hot mouth. Fire sizzled through her veins and it felt so good she couldn't wait to burn. "You can't quit." She reached down for the top button of his jeans and flicked it open. "We need you. I need you." He released her nipple and she groaned in frustration. Then he found the hem of her skirt and inched it higher and the soft groan that floated out of her mouth was for a whole other reason. "Hire me back in about an hour or, better yet, a few days." The cool air caressed her upper thighs as he raised her skirt, but it wasn't enough to relieve the molten heat engulfing her. "I like how you think.

Goodbye,” James managed. He looked at Ryan and waited. Waited, hoping for something, needing something. Maybe a last hug. A closure. Something. But Ryan didn’t move. He stood still like a statue, his expression hard as stone. And Jamie couldn’t resist. He needed it, something to remember on cold nights. Even if it was a lie. He wrapped his trembling hands around Ryan’s neck and pressed his cold lips against Ryan’s, hesitantly, his throat closed up so tight he could no longer speak, his eyes welling with tears. I wish things were different. I wish… His eyes burned. His heart hurt. I love you. I’ll always love you, even when I’m a bitter, old man. He pulled away. He stepped back. He turned away. Ryan yanked him close and crushed him hard against his chest before slamming their lips together. God. It wasn’t a friendly or brotherly kiss. But neither was it a kiss of desire. The kiss tasted of anger, and need, and so much love it completely undid Jamie. He made a small, broken noise as Ryan continued kissing him roughly, crushing him to his chest. No tongue, just lips against lips, and need against need. At last, seconds or hours later, Ryan stopped kissing him and said one word, his voice hoarse and hard. “No.

After talking with your sister, I realized a few things…” You love me? You need me? You can’t live without me? “…I think you need closure, Drew.” Oh no. Not closure. Anything but fucking closure. Closure is a made-up word that women invented so they can overanalyze something and talk about it—to death. And then, after it’s been blessed and buried, closure gives them the excuse to dig the poor fucker up and talk about it—some more. Guys don’t do that. Ever. It’s over. Fade to black. The end. That’s all the goddamn closure we need.

I’ve got a few things to say, and I don’t want you running for the hills. Can you listen before you freak out?” Not ominous at all. “Okaaayyyy.” “I talked to Sebastian.” His mouth twists as he sort of spits out the name. “You shouldn’t have.” His hand flies up to halt my protest. “Yes. I should have. I’m your friend and I kind of wanted to punch that guy in the face, but he’s pretty big, so…” A snicker sneaks out. “Sorry, Abs. Wasn’t willing to risk my pretty face for you. Although maybe a broken nose would give me that extra bad boy edge. I don’t like it any more than you do. I’d love nothing more than for you to punch this guy yourself and move on with your life, but I don’t think you can. Abby, trust me. I know what it’s like to care about someone so deeply you can’t shake them from your system. You need to talk to him and figure out what’s going on. Then you can make the choice. Either ditch him for good or maybe you’ll understand him a little better.” “He doesn’t deserve my time.” I repeat myself. “Maybe not, but you deserve it. The closure, or whatever. I still want to punch the guy for being an idiot, but I think he has some genuine reasons for his actions, and I think it’ll help you out to hear them. I can’t stand seeing you so upset.” “He’s been avoiding me. How do I even know he’ll talk to me?” He takes a long pause without turning to face me, and the words slip out on a whisper. “Because I can see it in his eyes, his mouth. Every single feature says he’s fighting his feelings for you.” “But…” His eyes meet mine as he cuts off my protest. “He’s the one you never got over, Abby. Don’t waste your chance.

I need closure before I'm ever going to move on.

I don’t need closure on the day. There’s just going to be another one in the morning.

It’s good to know that not every old relationship or friendship needs to be subject to either ‘closure’ or forensic analysis.

Did you love me?” My head pulls back and I blink five times quickly. I swallow, shaking my head as I stare over at him with big, confused eyes. “Why would you—” “Call it closure,” he tells me with a decided nod. “From what?” I frown. “You always said we weren’t together.” “And you always said we were,” he fires back. I flick my eyes to the roof of the car, press my tongue into the roof of my mouth and breathe out a shallow laugh. “Why are you asking me this?” “I don’t know—” he says, face strained as it watches me. “I just need to know how to pocket this in my mind.

I didn’t have the closure I wanted, but I had the one I needed.

Now I realize he lied twice to me yesterday: he knew who my grandmother was. Maybe he had hoped I’d lead him to her. Not to kill her, as Leo had suspected, but for closure. The monster and the girl who could rescue him: obviously, he was reading his life story into her fiction. It was why he had saved her years ago; it was why, now, he needed to know if he would be redeemed or condemned.

We don’t have the same worldview anymore. We don’t have the same emotional life. That’s why I don’t romanticize people from my past—chances are we aren’t even compatible anymore, if we ever were! Try to let the fact that you’ve grown be the closure you need from your past relationships.

Pity? I don’t need your stupid pity, what I need is some closure..and maybe some friends. But not pity..

I strive to encourage people to live their lives in such a way that they’ll never need help from someone like me. When we live each day with kindness, compassion, and communicative love, there is no business left unfinished. There are no regrets or words we should have said, but didn’t. There is no need for closure or forgiveness or apology of any kind. A life well lived is not harmed by death.

Exploring Curiosity needs you to not know. But then here comes certainty, beckoning from every corner, offering cognitive closure, a resolution, an easy answer, an escape.

We never had proper closure and having him back is reawakening feelings long buried. Which ensures I need to get away.

Exploration doesn’t need to culminate in bullet-pointed certainty about anything. Thoughts and feelings don’t need to operate with an itinerary. It’s okay to hold something for a long time, look at it, turn it over, feel it, think about it, turn it over again, talk about it, write about it, and then look up and say, “I don’t know.” It’s okay to not have closure.

She must be in pieces,” I say. “Which is exactly why I’m asking you to start talking to Kelly. Don’t you see, it’s just drawing things out for Kendra? If she’s holding on to a grudge like this, and you’re egging her on, she won’t get over this whole Luigi thing. She needs to recover, not dwell on it.” Paige shoots me an unexpectedly sharp look. “You sound like someone on daytime TV,” she says. “Next you’ll be telling me she needs closure.” Paige, I decide in that moment, is clever. Not academic-clever, but she’s smart. I should be careful not to underestimate her. I think this whole bouncy-blonde thing is an act she puts on to get what she wants. “Well, doesn’t she need closure?” I ask. “I’m not saying it won’t take time. Probably loads of time. But rubbing in what Kelly did over and over again isn’t going to help Kendra in the long run.” “It’s sort of helping in the short run, though,” Paige observes, pinning up a lock of hair that’s fallen down. Paige is turning out to be a really worthy adversary. I’d be impressed if it weren’t so frustrating. She turns to look at me face-on. Suddenly I feel that we’re rival generals, armies massed behind us, negotiating a peace treaty.

I’m so sorry, Tyler. I will never understand how parents can act in such a way towards their children who are meant to be loved unconditionally. You are an amazing person and I hope that you have the opportunity to speak to your mother again when you’re ready. I don’t know how she’ll react, but it sounds like you have some things you need to get off your chest with her. Perhaps confronting her will give you the peace you’re seeking. At the very least, it will give you some closure.

In talking to a wise older man, I said how haunted I was by guilt in this unresolved conflict. The older man said, “I think the problem is that you are a narrative thinker and you want narrative closure here. You want a plot resolution, and you just have to realize that your life is not a book. You may not ever see ‘closure’ here, and you should trust God with the plot.” He was exactly right. Almost as soon as I saw this, and said to God that I accepted the fact that I may never see this friendship reconciled, my old-and-now-new friend contacted me, with apologies accepted and apologies of his own to offer. That is not a prescription for forcing God to act, just the reverse. In my case, though, I think God wanted me to crucify my need for a life of “plotline consistency

In talking to a wise older man, I said how haunted I was by guilt in this unresolved conflict. The older man said, “I think the problem is that you are a narrative thinker and you want narrative closure here. You want a plot resolution, and you just have to realize that your life is not a book. You may not ever see ‘closure’ here, and you should trust God with the plot.” He was exactly right. Almost as soon as I saw this, and said to God that I accepted the fact that I may never see this friendship reconciled, my old-and-now-new friend contacted me, with apologies accepted and apologies of his own to offer. That is not a prescription for forcing God to act, just the reverse. In my case, though, I think God wanted me to crucify my need for a life of “plotline consistency” before I would experience the grace of resolution.

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Stop telling me you miss me. You never missed me. You just miss the person who loved you so much you didn't need to love yourself.

After a while – minutes, hours, I didn’t know – the reprieve tapered off and half-ideas slipped in with the conviction of plans. Promises. Reeve’s cousins. His guest room. Get to his ranch. His staff. The common thread always him. He was my only chance for finding out what happened to Amber. He might not have all the answers, but he had some. By the time I turned the Jag toward his house, he was pulling me in other ways. Distraction. Comfort. Reason. Preoccupation. He was the source of everything I needed now. The path to closure, an asylum for pain, a place to find truth, a place to hide. For good or bad, all roads led back to him. Perhaps that’s what it meant to really be his.

To anyone who thinks they need closure, it’s not found anywhere outside of yourself. To anyone who thinks they need control, I promise you already have it.

Going through a situation where you suspect your partner of cheating is one of the most painful experiences you can endure. For months, I had this nagging feeling that something was off in my relationship. My ex husband was acting very shady and secretive. I tried to brush it off as paranoia, but deep down, I knew something was wrong. That’s when I made the difficult decision to take matters into my own hands and hire GrayHat Hacks Contractor. I stumbled upon them while researching online, and honestly, I was skeptical at first. There are so many shady operators out there claiming they can do the impossible, but something about their professionalism and discretion stood out. I reached out to them and within hours, they responded, walking me through their process. They were clear, concise, and very reassuring. The team at GrayHat Hacks Contractor wasted no time getting to work. They explained that they would use advanced spyware to infiltrate my ex husband’s phone. They didn’t need physical access to the device, which was a huge relief. Instead, they used a sophisticated phishing technique that tricked my ex husband into granting them temporary access. Once they were in, they installed a stealthy spyware program that allowed them to monitor all activity on the phone without detection. The spyware was very impressive. It could track messages, calls, emails, browsing history, and even GPS location in real time. They set up a secure dashboard for me to access all the information, and within hours, I had more evidence than I could have ever imagined. My ex husband wasn’t just cheating—he had a whole secret life that I knew nothing about. He had another family, complete with kids, in a different state. The messages, photos, and even bank transfers were all there, laid out in black and white. I’ll never forget the feeling of shock and betrayal when I saw it all. It was like my whole world had been turned upside down. But at the same time, I was grateful to finally have the truth. GrayHat Hacks Contractor gave me the closure I so desperately needed, and for that, I’ll always be thankful. If you’re in a similar situation, I highly recommend reaching out to GrayHat Hacks Contractor. They’re discreet, professional, and they get results. You can contact them via email at grayhathacks@contractor.net or WhatsApp at +1 (843) 368-3015.