To some degree, I hold the belief that people are simply characters in a story. It’s not as if there is any sort of plot, or climax, or even a catalyst to said story. In fact: some of us are just floating. A few, it seems, lack any depth what-so-ever. But, sometimes, these little characters are blessed with the hideously raw experience of growth.
What am I talking about when I say, “Growth”?
Well, to explain, I’d start with the idea that maybe we aren’t all contributing to the same story. Perhaps, we as humans, are feeding into multiple happy endings. Or, more realistically, dreadful let downs, depending on the POV (point of view).
Being the type of person to love easily, my heart has been let down countless times. In some moments, these disappointments lead to the hollowing sense that the particular novel of my time spent with someone left my character with the rotten bit of the ending. But, really, this isn’t the case. Rather, my character has seen and felt more than most. Truthfully, my Author has simply given me depth: Something that has to happen for a character to be likable.
Though it hurt, and I’ve spiraled in the most cliche way possible, my persona has been developed and pushed further than it ever has before.
It has grown.
*I* have grown.