What would it take to write a Happy Ending?
A pen without an owner? A story without conflict?
Control was my only remedy. Fear, my frantic ally.
Like stanzas in a poem, we were words tied to choice.
Glued together by chance, like instruments in a song.
I called it Doki Doki Literature Club.
a Place were words turned to Love.
a Place were love turned to Literature.
a Place where literature was.... Music.
It began with a bleak epiphany,
that existence was orchestrated satire.
A hole of infinite choices,
like a freeform poem,
endless in potential.
Free from Structure.
Control was an illusion and fear,
my true enemy.
What is a writer without a Pen?
A struggle without a story?
Maybe Happy Endings aren't real.
Maybe villains aren't real.
Maybe this Place...