When Forever Isn’t The Point 

This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Queen's U chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.

I used to think I loved films for the way they made me feel good. Lately, I’ve realized I love them for the ways they don’t.

La La Land. Past Lives. Aftersun. Normal People. One Day. They all end the same way. Not neatly, not happily, but truthfully. No grand reunion, no perfect closure, no “and they lived happily ever after.” Just a pause. A look. A feeling left hanging in the air.

And somehow, that’s exactly what makes them beautiful.

I don’t remember the first time I watched La La Land but I remember that final scene. Mia and Sebastian’s eyes meet, and for a split second, it’s like time folds in on itself. They share this look that says everything they couldn’t. There’s love, loss, pride and for a split second, the question of “What if?” It’s one of the simplest endings I’ve ever seen, but also one of the most devastating. No words. No begging. Just acceptance.

That’s what I love about stories like these. They don’t dramatize heartbreak. They sit quietly in it. Normal People ends with Marianne and Connell sitting on the floor of their Dublin apartment, knowing their paths are diverging but not wanting to hold each other back even though their love feels like everything. Past Lives ends with two people walking away from each other; from the versions of themselves they wanted to be, but aren’t. 

There’s no music cue that tells you how to feel. You just… do.

I think that’s why I find these endings so powerful: they trust the audience. They don’t hand you closure on a silver platter. They let you sit in the discomfort of not knowing what happens next, which is exactly what life feels like most of the time.

For a while, I wanted art to give me answers; to help me make sense of the mess. But the older I get, the more I’ve grown to appreciate stories that don’t pretend to have answers. The ones that say, “Yeah, this is complicated and that’s okay.”

Maybe it’s because I’ve learned that things don’t always wrap up neatly in real life. People drift apart. Feelings change. Timing fails. And sometimes, love doesn’t get to be forever. These films and shows understand that. They capture the kind of love that lingers after it has passed; the kind that shapes who you’ll become.

What I love most, though, is how simple they are. They never need big speeches or heavy dialogue to make you feel something. It’s all in the subtleties; the looks, the pauses, the space between words. The simplicity makes it hurt even more. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid.

As I’ve grown up, I’ve become better friends with heartbreak; the uncertainty, the ache of almosts, the fear that I’ll never find a love worth losing or keeping. Maybe that’s why I find comfort in these stories. They hold up a mirror to all those unfinished feelings and say, “See? It’s still real.” 

I’ve found that the most honest stories are the ones that don’t give you everything you want, but just enough to understand what was lost.