Another day goes by. Another couple pass. Why can I not have love? Why is it not meant for me? I guess that is the price for not being able to change yourself. I am a willow tree. My home is on top of a beautiful hill. Underneath my big beautiful branches, people come to sit to watch the sunsets. Everyday I see new faces. So full of brightness and love. All I want is to have someone love me. I cannot move or speak, how will someone ever fall for me? All I am is a useless tree.
A young boy walks up the hill. He is not like the rest, where is his basket, blanket, date? All he has is a box. Who is this boy? He stands there staring at me for the longest time. What could he be doing? He nods and sits down underneath my branches. He takes out his box. What could be inside? Inside lies paper, paint, and water. What will be paint? Not many of the boys who come here are interested in what is around them. He takes out the paint and mixes it with the water. I cannot wait to watch.  He starts to put the water by itself on the paper. What is he doing? Doesn't he know how to paint? "First I will do a water wash background." Is he speaking to me? "You are a beautiful muse." He is! He has to be speaking to me! He is speaking to a tree!
He begins to add watered down paint to the water. It spreads out from the place he applied it. I have never seen such skill in anything. He continues the paint on water method until the paper looks like the most beautiful sunset you could ever imagine. He sits against me. I wish I was able to get him that it looks amazing. That he was amazing. Suddenly, he begins to cry. What happened! Did I do something to make the boy sad? How can I help? Suddenly he says, "I wish I could stay here forever. Too bad I have to go back to my home." He then begins to pack up his things. I don't want the boy to leave me. I want to watch him paint some more. He begins to walk back down the hill. Halfway down he turns around and says, "I will be back tomorrow." I can hardly wait until tomorrow! Have I made a friend?
           It is about twelve now. Where could he be? I wait and wait. Was he actually lying to me? At around three I hear some in in the distance. This must be him! The suspense is going to kill me.
What is taking him so long to walk up the hill? As he makes it to the top of the hill, I can tell something is wrong. He is limping and his face looks swollen. Still, he carries the box. He eases himself onto the ground. He is definitely in pain. He must have fallen. After staring into the distance, he opens his box. He takes out the same paper as yesterday. Was there more to add to such a beautiful piece? Instead of yesterday's paint on water technique, he bulls out thick black paint. Oh no! He is going to ruin it!
          He stares at the beautiful painting for a while before he begins. First, he draws a large ark at the bottom of the page, and fills it in with black. Why would he want to cover up his work from yesterday? I guess as a tree, I will never understand. From that ark, he draws a stick going up. What could he be thinking? He begins to add dots and lines to the stick. After a few minutes I realize what it is. A willow tree sitting on a hill. The tree's branches flow in the wind as it overlooks those below it. The boy wasn't ruining the painting at all. He created the most beautiful painting I have ever seen!
         He looks up, not at me, not at anything, just up. What could he be thinking? I want to ask him so bad, but he is unreachable. Being myself is a burden. He leans back onto me, and looks up. He once again has tears in his eyes. What is happening to the boy when he is not here with me. In a weak voice he says, "I wish I would never have to go back." He begins to pack up his box of art. He has to lean against me to stand up. I wish I could comfort him. As he walks away, he trips and falls. I hope he will come back. "I will. I will come back here until the day I die." He makes his way down the hill. I hope he will.
It is about 5 o'clock. I thought he said he would be back. I can hear one thing at the bottom of the hill. It sounds like a fight. I hear an unfamiliar voice scream, "You are a monster! You don't belong anywhere, and you never will!" There he is, he came back. Why was he fighting? What was it about? He comes and sits down as if nothing had happened. He pulls out the painting of me, how could he make it any more wonderful? He also takes out the black paint. What more could he add. He leans over the painting so I cannot see.
When he leans up, I am able to see what he added. Underneath my branches, he drew himself. He is truly an amazing artist. He stares at it for a minute longer. Just as he is about to add something, a man runs up. There is something wrong with the man. He stumbles as he walked, and his speak is slurred. He has a bottle of some weird liquid in his hand. He acts as if he is going to fall over. This man must be very sick. The man yells, "So this is where you have been!" He has to catch his breath before he yells, "You are coming home right now!" He lunges at he boy. What is he doing?! The boy doges his blow and screams back, "Never. I never want to go anywhere with you again!" "Fine," the man screams," Stay here with a stupid tree!" Is that all I am, just a stupid tree? The man storms off.
The boy stays here late. Some time in the middle of the night, he leaves. I awake at dawn by footsteps. I see it is the boy. He is carrying the picture, tape, and some rope. What was he going to do? First, he tapes the picture of us to me. This is odd. Next he ties one end of the rope to one of my branches and the other around his neck. No! Please, anything but that. He stands on one of my roots. Please! While staring at the picture he says, "I want to be somewhere where someone cares for me." He holds his breath and jumps.
Later that day, his father come by. Or at least, I assume he is his father. He seems upset. He looks at the painting, then at me. "It's all your fault. He would rather be dead than with me!" He pulls out a fire stick, and throws it on me. I see. He is taking his sadness out on me. That is ok. My love is gone anyway.
I wake up. "Where am I" I say. Wait. I said something! "You are in Heaven dear, this is where inanimate objects with spirits go." I turn around to see a tall lady in a white dress. I can move. Then I realize something, where is my boy? "I am looking for someone. He just died, where would he be?" "All new people are in that line." I get up and begin to run. There he is. "Hello!" "I have always wanted to meet you! My name is Willow. I am the willow tree that you painted." He just stares at me in shock. "I-I just wanted to be able to talk to you." "How are you a person?" He says in disbelief. "After your father burned me, I woke up here." I am so excited. "I..Can.. Um..." I trail off. I am so nervous. What if he doesn't like me after all?

"Can you teach me how to paint?"

"-of course Willow."