Underneath the Willow Tree
Kai Qiu

The willow tree stands tall and strong in my line of vision. Underneath it is a boy. I am not looking at the boy, for I am too caught up in the beauty of the branches that sway and twist in the wind. I cannot say that I'm particularly attracted to the physical beauty of the tree, mainly the beauty of the spirit. Call me crazy, but I think trees have spirits. I mean, why not?

My attention is momentarily shifted as the boy moves his arm from on top of his knee cap to next to his leg. And then again he sits still, like he is being painted, or photographed, and I look around, and he's not. Now the boy has my attention. He has gray hair – obviously died or bleached – that comes down and swirls around his face, giving it a more defined look. He has gray eyes, and I can tell that they are the natural color.

The boy's skin is pale and his lips a pure white – no thanks to lipstick in the very least. He gives off the image that he has been pulled out of a black and white manga, but one look at his eyes and you can tell that he is here and now, and he is real.

The boy is so much like the willow tree it's not even funny, they both look similar – gray, dull, but lively. And they both act similar, both swaying in the wind. I notice that the boy is giving me a funny look, and my black hair swirls all around me, but my body stays still. I am to scared to move on, to scared to face him.

Because, as tiny as he is, he intimidates me. Not that he's scary, it's just that he is too...cute, too...I don't know. It seems like he's very vulnerable, and I can't be suspected to the kind of burden he may bring.

But I can't bring my feet to walk away. They stay in the same position as they have been for the last five minutes, and I remain standing. The boy gives me a slight smile, because he has finally realized that I am not going anywhere. It's like all I had to do was wait, and then he would finally invite me into his soul. It's like we skipped formality because, what is a name?

I want to reach out my hand and make a grab for him, instantly pocketing him – but that might be to weird. So I just stand and wait. I can tell that the boy wants something to happen, so he completely changes the position he is in to one that is slightly more inviting, like he is saying to me, “come on over, and sit down next to me.”

And right about now I am so happy my legs were failing me before, because right about now he is allowing me to walk towards him without frowning. I sit down next to the boy, and realize that his scent is icy and cold, and that everything about him makes me want to cry, because as much as I like the silence that we are sharing, it makes me see too far inside my self.

I feel all the colors of my heart, and I finally realize that all the music I listen to normally is too cluttered. I need to step away and re-evaluate myself. A tear escapes my amber eyes, and rolls down my cheek, and the boy leans his face closer to mine, as if to say, “You have stayed quiet, and now I will reward you.” But all he does is brush away my ear with his fingers which are – unsurprisingly cool.

Everything about this boy was odd, and dramatic, in a way that was not dramatic at all. It made my skin long for his touch again. I was becoming jealous – greedy, if you will. He is so intoxicating, so invigorating, so perfect, and yet something about him is off. Besides the fact that I am attracted to the only boy I know who is unafraid to show his true colors, there is something odd about the way that he expresses them – totally emerging himself in a world of white, and gray, and probably, some black.

I sit next to him and think. I tap my fingers noisily on the ground next to me. I bounce my feet to the rhythm of a song I cannot hear. I blink my eyes in a pattern that I don't even recognize as the drum part of any song that I have listened to on auto-repeat for the last few days.

I have decided that I want to be more like the boy of gray. I want to become something different, and show who I really am. Maybe shades of red, and black and white. But that seems to bright. It seems that the boy has gone the right way with toning down his color, because he knows it suits him best.

So what suits me best? What color pallet would look good on me.

The boy shakes his head in a “I give up,” way, and my whole body freezes. And I realize, that he gave no thought as too how he wanted to look, he just took action, and people accept him for that. I changed my legs around, intertwining them into the pretzel shape I knew them best as, and I closed my eyes.

The wind begins sweeping at my hair, and it feels like it is telling me to cut my hair into jagged shapes, because that would reflect my personality best. What is my personality then? Preppy, or emo, or jock, or punk, or outcast, or skater, or what?

What am I?

I cannot concentrate anymore, I have had enough. I stand up, and walk away – the boy seems to be at a loss. But he does not cry out. He does not mope around. He just returns to the position he was in before and closes his eyes. All the while, I just walk away. But then, I cannot resist. I must, I must, I must, because I cannot live without seeing his beautiful face at least once more.

The willow tree stands tall and strong in my line of vision. Underneath it is a boy. I am not looking at the boy, for I am too caught up in the beauty of the branches that sway and twist in the wind. I cannot say that I'm particularly attracted to the physical beauty of the tree, mainly the beauty of the spirit. Call me crazy, but I think trees have spirits. I mean, why not?

What do you think? Ah frick, i forgot to write a new The Closet chapter yesterday - i'll do that later today!

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Kai