That Final Page

As I close my eyes, that echo stopped.
I could no longer feel its warmth.
I try to witness why.
I stand in a place I once called my safe place,
now fallen into ruin.
The shelves of papers filled with my soul now burn,
filling the air with the scent of ink and ginger.
The picture frames stop their dance,
as they fell into shattered pieces of once was.
Each step I took was greeted by the sound of water flooding in.
I sit by the patio, the steel frame of the chair now cold.
I let my finger play once more on the typewriter,
but its keys were no more and a pained laugh filled the air.
As I walked across the drowning carnations,
I saw the bridge that once led to nowhere
now led to a wooden door with the scent of lotus.
I placed my hand on its knob, and it felt warm.
I entered with a trembling heart,
and there I saw a fox, a witch, and a serpent inside a bar.
The serpent walked towards me, leaving the counter,
and handed me a piece of paper that simply read,
"There is truly never an end."