Bittersweet

Growing is tiring, it's an ugly process of understanding. She's grappling with the way of living.

Now no one's complaining, really, just amused, feeling weary. Aging's the true experience, it's almost bloodshedding, for now.

She grew to believe wonderland, only then to stomach the wonder land of ups and low downs. How does one justify dolce vita? Incooperation, if possible, at all?

Through the menace, somehow, all's bittersweet. Be it honey, maybe black coffee, it's yours to define... if only you believe in the strength of hope.