"Bittersweet"
The word that haunts me the most.
When writing or reading a story.
That word tugs on your hearts strings, stings you where you're most vulnerable.
A word that forms from concept to feeling and never leaves the back of your mind even years after finishing a story.
Why can't all stories have a happy ending?
...
What makes a story?
Can a happy ending consider itself as one?
There will always be a struggle to a story.
And when the struggle stretches beyond a story's epilogue, that feeling, that burning desire to place yourself in the writer's position and change that ending.
"Bittersweet"
It's what makes a good story.
Yet we quietly - silently loathe it.
A paradox that encompasses itself onto the smiles and tears of each character.
Why should a story have an ending?
Why do we keep holding onto it?
The flowers that bloom under the spring sunlight and the trees that wave it's leaves, sheltering a crying protagonist with it's shade.
"We can never meet again - so, I'll thank you one last time."
The girl that continues to walk away from the tree, unwillingly.
A tear that sheds from her eyes and puddles onto the concrete below her.
This is the end.
And they both know it.
"I love you."
...
The girl flinches, knowing that they'll never have the chance to see each other again.
"... I love you too."
The book closes and you sit at your desk in silence.
"Bittersweet"
It tugs on our heartstrings, and stings us where we're most vulnerable.
Grounding us to a reality we're not ready to accept.
One where there is no such thing as an ending.
Where the line guarding us from fiction solidifies.
A story defines us.
A story protects us.
A bittersweet story teaches us.