Nighttime, Rufus is in the darkening loft, looking at a photograph. The environment includes whatever's on that photo. Being an adult means adapting to the environment, which includes that photograph and whatever lies behind it. Have you ever seen a romantic comedy? There's a scene that comes right before you chase after her and tell her that you can't believe how blind you were this whole time. It looks like this.
Lily stares down at a framed picture of her own: It's the two of them. Not long ago, not when they were young, but now. She's smiling at the frame; he's looking down, and to your left. He's happier than he's ever been. Men aren't for that. They're for a lot, but they're not for that, and she makes him so happy without even trying. That look in the eye, she ran from it for twenty years, because -- as any Rhodes woman knows -- love is a burden on the beloved. It holds you in place, so tightly, like a photograph. The fifth thing I've learned is that running is a place. Waiting is a choice. You think you're going somewhere, you think you're not making a choice: You're wrong. That's the choice you made and the place you've stopped at. Spend your life refusing to be tamed, just to realize you're in a cage, all alone. And you can't breathe.
Rufus was supposed to be the antidote to that: Another location, another snapshot, to get her room to breathe. She dropped the walls, then, just to let the light in. So she could breathe in, a little bit, before buttoning up again. Bart dying took that away, too: There weren't any walls left. And she could feel Rufus coming for her, with that look in his eyes: Ready to pin her to the wall with his youth and all the dreams that never came true. Next to Scott. Right below his first marriage. Putting first Jenny and then Serena between them, with his heart bleeding open. Can you see it? Can you see just the spot?
He holds onto the picture, and finally, with finality, pins it to the wall, and we can see it for the first time: They're both holding onto the exact same picture. It's the two of them. Not long ago, not when they were young, but now. She's smiling at the frame; he's looking down, and to your left. He's happier than he's ever been. He can breathe.