Sitcoms are sad.
They are sadder than those love stories where protagonists don't end up with each other, where they choose lives so wildly different that they stop looking back.
Sitcoms aren't like that, no, they aren't tragic love stories where heartbreak is loud and final.
They are worse.
They make us fall in love with the ordinary; the everyday breakfasts, the group hugs, the terrible plans, the spontaneous evenings that somehow turn golden. Just simple something that starts to feel everything.
It's like getting to know a new friend; learning them like a street you've walked for years, the cracks in the pavement, the old tree that always blooms first in spring, or like that one rare family in my neighbourhood that I actually like; their home always warm, their door open, their laughter spilling out like fairy lights.
But then........they leave. quietly.
Because sitcoms are sneaky.
They aren't loud with heartbreak, nope. It's in the little things; the empty apartment, the uncooked food left in the fridge, the group chat that stops buzzing, the unoccupied couch that no one fights over now.
It ends with people laughing, content with the little life they created... But it leaves us crying.
Sitcoms are sad.
Not because of how they end, but because how alive they once felt.
