There’s something about it. Something beautiful. Something magical. Something I can’t explain yet. Something I can’t manage to hold in my hands.
But I want to.
I want to know this magic. I want to know what it is even though I still do not know the name of what it is I feel for it. I want to know, because I have felt this unnamable feeling before, and it has anyways been good. A welling up in my throat, like I want to weep, but something holds the tears back, and I cannot tell if they would be of joy or of sorrow. Maybe it’s because they would be both. I’d be glad to feel the sorrow, because I’m glad when I feel anything. Anything I can feel something for is on a completely different plane than something I cannot, no matter what the feeling is. The joy of experiencing something beautiful, and the sorrow of knowing that despite the beauty there is a power that seeks to crush it. The sorrow of something beautiful being left all on its own, and the joy of seeing the beauty try their hardest to persevere, even as the sorrow of seeing the beautiful thing fail continues.
Pity. That was its name. That was the feeling. Pity. A desire to help. A desire to reach out and brush the tears away. A desire to see the suffering end. And the sorrow as you know that there is nothing you can do to stop it; you must watch it play out, act by act, and simply hope for resolution.