Hate me ever after

Today while discussing fiction in Lit class a woman said she always wants to know what happens and she wants the conclusion, the strings tied up, the neat wrapping.
I wanted to shout “Me too” . I want to know if they lived ever after or if there was a messy divorce and how many kids and what were their names. Even though I know it’s cheating. I know its not right and its not fair and the story ends and that's that.

I also want to know this in life, who did you marry, what do your kids do, what are their talents, what happened to your mothers lover.
But I don't see this in many other people. They just say goodbye and that's that.
I am shocked my old lovers and friends don't seek me out, or if I find them they don't want to talk. I think “how could you not still care, how can you not love me?” Because I remember them and I still love them if ever I did.
If ever I have loved someone I still love them, despite the broken ribs or noses despite the rape, despite the drunken atrocities screamed in my face, despite boredom, indifference, infidelity, disgust or just confusion paired with walking shoes.
I want to know the rest, I want to know the time you smelled me and felt tinged.
I want to tell you what I missed about you when I missed you.
But none seem to share that, none seem to miss me with the ache I feel for them. They are obeying well the rules of fiction. I break rules.