Ending is a word which has an -ing towards the end of it. Ending is a process. A process of becoming an end. Of ceasing to be—a continuous process of becoming an end. When I look at the midriff of the girl sitting at the desk, a midriff that peaks out of the gap between her blouse which is just short enough that a opening had come into existence and the jeans which I realise upon seeing its waistband is an elastic, less-than-jeans pair of jeans, when I look at that short expanse of skin, I feel something stirring inside me. Something that responds to skin, to exposed flesh, and to beauty. When I look at the the breasts of the petit girl whose one arm is crossed over the other, and thus which lifts her bust just a little, like a lotus bud lifted up by waves, when I look at the feet of the married woman with pink nail paint and encased in a sandal with golden strap, and when I look at the girl lifting her underwear just a little because it had slipped down while she walked…all of this reminds me of death. Death, which is the sense of an ending. A continuous process of ceasing to be. A continuous process where the skin will flake off because there is no more blood coursing underneath it, providing it with air and water and other elements. Where the breast will atrophy if she is buried, will turn into liquid fat and burn away if she is cremated, and will expand with gases if she drowns and stays in water for too long. Death and beauty are two sides of a coin. Two facets of a diamond which sparkles, only to be lost when the woman forgets her earring on the rock at the beach where she sat watching the horizon. The distinguishing feature of human beings from other animals is self-consciousness. When the body ceases moving, consciousness is also extinguished like a candle which had been lighting a tiny alcove for an hour too many. This sort of ending is graceful, but also ghastly. At once calming and terrifying. The memories of flesh, of pushing the head of your penis inside a welcoming, slippery, warm body, of erect nipples quivering between your fingers…all of this will cease to be. There will be no more sweating under the merciless sun, no more goosebumps in the rain, no more painful good-byes.