I believe everything exists in this world for a reason.

When I read The Giving Tree, I remember thinking something like this.

Did the tree really give everything just because of the memories?

Or maybe the child simply became someone the tree wanted to give everything to—

enough to fill both of the child’s arms with branches and fruit.

Wasn’t that why it kept giving and giving, tearing pieces of itself away until there was nothing useful left?

Because otherwise, there would be no reason to give away that much.

Right?

At the end of the story, the tree has nothing left, yet it’s still happy.

Why you?

Some people call the tree’s happiness love.

Why call that love?

Is love just giving everything for no reason?

You’re just a tree.

Is that really happiness?

Or is it just gritting its teeth and pretending?

Really?

If that’s the case…

shouldn’t you just call it a sucker?

What kind of love is that?

I don’t get it.