There was a boy she once loved. She fell in love with him when she was eight years old and he was in his little bicycle. He sped by her while she shyly walked to school. During recess, she saw him playing in the monkey bars with classmates, and after school, she’d spot his outgoing-self laughing and telling jokes to his friends.
She met him twenty years later, and he looked just as handsome, except older. He glanced at her with a mischievous smile and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed, but was crying inside because of how hard life had gotten. He took her to the beach and they swam in the oceans together. He took her to the mountains and they hugged each other. He took her to the rivers, and they watched it flow in silence with her head on his shoulder. He took her everywhere, and she loved the thrill of it. She smiled ear to ear. They walked arm in arm.
They looked cute together. People never understood why they didn’t end up with each other. But truth be told, he was much too into pretty girls with big personalities, and she; guys with money. So the season turned and the clouds shifted their positions, and in no time the years progressed after they lovingly stared into each other’s eyes one night; unable to change what the stars had in store for them. That night, his beautiful eyes sparkled while he hid more want than anyone would ever want to admit, and her eyes–they tried to look positive; although she wished to never leave his arms.
Everyone wondered what happened to them afterwards, but most likely he found a pretty girl, moved on, and lived a big voluptuous life. But she, she died living alone forever. The tree and the leaves tell me that. Right around here they buried her in the grave, and an innocent bright flower blooms over it, for a few days in summer.