You and I

One day, I sat beneath a tree reading my favorite book. Never pay attention to my surroundings nor give a damn about it. People come and go. Some I knew, some I don't. Some I thought I knew, some I never thought I'd know. But then I met you. You sat next to me under the tree, reading the same book. You were different, your affection for me was more than my appearance.

We became best friends. I could never imagine a day without you. We were so close, but there was a problem. I thought you weren't good enough for me, beneath me, that you would never leave because you wouldn't find someone better.

I began to say harsh things to you. Bad things, things I called truth. And you began to do the same. You started hiding and became increasingly harsh towards me. At some point, I realize you were the best thing that ever happen to me, I stopped. Because I realize, I wanted you in my life and you're not beneath me. But it was too late, I try to salvage our relationship, but you tore the book apart. The book that we both so love. You made promises that you couldn't keep only to impress me because you didn't believe you were good enough.

You promise to meet me under the tree yet you never showed up. You promised I would never be cold and that you would always be there for me. Yet the very next day, you stood up and walk off. Without a word and disappear, never to return again.

I no longer have a book to read, or a friend to sit under the tree with. I sat there alone, looking at other people, crying. Because I was truly alone. Many people came along, some were nice, some weren't. But I realize we both made mistakes, and you decided to leave, because you weren't smart enough to see that I'd always be there for you no matter what.

Now that you're gone. I no longer read. Instead I paint, everyday under the same tree, painting my surroundings and the people I meet. Hoping that one day, I will met someone like minded who is smart enough to see that beauty is more than skin deep. Intelligent enough to know that words carry weight and only say what they mean.

Maybe someday you'll come back, under the tree. But it wouldn't matter anymore, because I would be long gone, painting in a different part of town with people who actually smile and is happy because they are breathing.