They walked hand in hand, and I couldn�t help but feel some resentment for the crime committed towards someone he claimed to be good friends with. The pain was too much to bear for anyone. The sand was malleable beneath my bare feet, and the sunset was just at a perfect angle in which to blind me of them, with the exception of their silhouette. I took a picture, because I knew he was happy. As long as he was happy it didn�t matter what he did to me, the pain I will never be able to escape. The Oceans vastness, so still and pristine to its very core instilled a yearning feeling to have what I couldn�t because it was taken. Uniqueness amongst individuals is truly something that is beautiful, and there was something unique about both of them together, that had stricken a tear in my eye. How could he possibly do this to me? It hurt so much that I had to do something about it. I couldn�t just watch off to the sideline never taking the initiative. Nothing I can say or do will ever make things the way I wanted them. so how? Never would I threaten, there was no point in trying, and thanks to his theft no point in continuing.
I sketched a picture on a red piece of paper, of a view standing on a mountain with a town visible below who�s lights shined through the thickets of snow. Marveled by many it was framed and given to my best friend. He in turn thought very highly of it, hung it in the most visible spot, and bragged about its prestige. Every where he went he would talk about it and how my skills were reflected in it. We were together often and laughed about much. We would see some little middle school kids walking down the street thinking that they were cool and better than everyone else, and we would laugh even more. Time went on and so did we.
I sketched a picture on blue piece of paper with purple spots, of a young boy walking along a beach alone with a beautiful sunset whilst other couples walked around him. Framed and given to my best friend, he placed it upon his bed side table, and gloated about it when ever anyone asked of it. We would spend time together, but he was always busy with other things. When we did have time together we would talk about serious matters such as life, school, and love. It seemed like things were different with him. He then met someone else who fell in love with him, and in turn he fell in love with her. Time went on and so did we.
I sketched a picture on a yellow piece of paper with orange spots, of a boy under a willow who�s face was poorly illuminated, and the primary colors ranged from black to light grays. Unframed, it was given to my best of friend. I came to his house one day to find him not home, his mother told me I could wait for him in his room, and there I went. On the floor, was my picture so professionally drawn and so unprofessionally treated. I began to feel really bad. Our time together now diminished into nothing as was our laughter. I knew where he was, or rather who he was with. It was always the same thing he was off doing something entertaining with her. Who was I to him? Well now I was a �no one� to him. Time went on and so did we.
I sketched not a picture, but rather wrote this this note on a white piece of paper with red spots. Each new red spot being born as the deep slashes continued to gush. The small bathroom cubicle seemed to be closing in on me as I could hear screams form the outside demanding the door be opened, and then I could hear him, he was there, outside my bathroom door. Begging me to open the door and to stop this stupidity, I thought a thought, why? �Why� was the question that had led me along this path always questioning everything that had ever happened: why did he do this to me? Why her? Why open the door? Why? �The unexamined life is not worth living� once said a great philosopher, but all it takes is one contradiction to make a statement false. Time went on and so did they.