Closure.

'Is there closure?', he asked.
No. 
I wish I'd stopped there. The more I tried to think, or talk, the more inconclusive it all started to seem. That's why I knew it had to remain there. In the past. The questions. The what-ifs. The howevers. It had to stay there. At the line that I'd drawn when I decided to accept, and to stop thinking. The line that I'd drawn when I decided to stop caring.
I wavered at the question. I would be lying if I said otherwise. 
But then, may be it's true.
"There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story."
And, I believe, knowing when to stop and trusting that choice is your best shot at closure.