Completely Incomplete

How does one wrap a story around so tightly that it fits like a worn old blanket, hugging every curve of your body?  Maybe fairy tales with standard beginnings and endings are not the fodder I am seeking.

Instead, perhaps, it is a collection of short spurts, leading you as a bridled horse to the conclusion that there IS no climax.
No great glimmer of universal wisdom.
Only faint streaks of insight that remind us that one piece is enough facet to reflect The One as a whole.  Incomplete, but enough.

That’s the problem.  As verbose as I have been, lately I have begun to lean more towards precision.  No need to muck up a story with five billionty extra filler words that do nothing but clutter up the empty spaces in our minds.  And why would one consider such emptiness unfortunate?  Why not instead embrace them, love them, and cherish that this is what they are?

Very simply: this is what is.  Let it be, or complete it.