Fictionism

After reading so many books, you tend to realize a few things. One thing in particular that stood out to me is how the girl realizes the guy is so right for her. That no matter what, she always gets drawn back to the guy in the end. Psych thrillers, romance novels, horror, anything. Love seems to be a main, if not central theme that runs in the book.

And it makes me wonder, what if he isn't the one? The lady always seems so sure. Instinctually, she seems to know. I'm sure it's been done. Novels where love is explored, analysed, taken apart, yet put back together.

I'm sure there's been a novel where the guy and the girl don't get together. But nobody likes those endings, do they?
Happy endings seem so satisfying, because in real life it's not that simple. So the authors, knowing exactly what to say use this to their advantage.
They give us what we want.

This is certainly a cliche topic but I know now why people always talk about this.
Maybe what should be kept in mind is, that we have not reached the end. So, to have hope is a good thing, no?
We don't know how it's all going to turn out in the end.
Because there's always tomorrow. Almost always anyway.

But, out of curiousity, how might a novel or a short story where the guy and the girl don't re-unite, how would it go?
Perhaps something like this.

Part #1
She listened as he continued to ramble, the unspoken thoughts of a boy, coming of age. Words burst forth, like a volcanic eruption. It seemed like he held back around other people, but let loose with her.
Why?
At times like this she wish he wouldn't. It was all too much to take.
Profanities are bitter and shocking, but perhaps we should be numb to it. Who doesn't swear these days?
He was on the phone, as was she, but her thoughts lead her back to the past.
Their past.

One thing that stood out in her memory was the burning image of their hands entertwined. The silence that often peppered their conversations was not at all uncomfortable. It was soothing, like the breeze from the ocean. The beach where they had spent their time. Looking back, she was foolish to get caught up in the fantasy that they were.
A fantasy that she thought was the reality that was too good to be true.
Too goddamned good to be true.
But the silence was not. She knew him from somewhere. She had met him before, she was certain. Like a childhood memory that shocks you after it comes back to you many years later.
A memory so sweet and so familiar, as he was.
Indeed it was sweet.

Now, she is put off. How can I love you? she asks. Over and over again. How can I love someone like you. I cannot love you blindly, even though love is supposed to be blind.
I cannot love you unconditionally, because I have to think about the future.
But isn't love like that?


That was so unpolished. Continue? Nah.