*If you can, you should listen to Frank Ocean's Forrest Gump on repeat, it really sets a mood and I heard it while writing so, have fun!*

The sunset was beautiful. She loved that. She loved the way the sunlight touched the mountains, how the orange would paint the trees and its leaves, how the wind seemed to gain color by the end of the day. It was her favorite part of the day. During free days, she would make us drive all the way to the beach, just to see the sun hiding behind the waves, how the blue became orange, yellow, red, sometimes she would claim the water was purple and laugh. On those days, she would get in the water, with whatever clothing she was wearing, and claim she was a dryad.

“I’m no simple mermaid, Seul, I am a purple dryad,” she laughed and danced through the waves, her blond hair getting drenched on the salt water. “Draw me, Seul,” she asked with a dopey smile.

Today the sunset was special. It was the beginning of fall and the leaves were still not completely dead. She liked the mixture of green and orange and brown and red. She liked colors, to be simple. Even the boring buildings (all buildings are grey, and grey is such a boring color, Seul, if I were ever to make a building, it would be bright blue, and green, because green reminds me of you) looked beautiful, the light appeared to have dyed them of color and they had some kind of life.
But instead of staying in the city, watching the dull buildings gain color, I chose to go further, on the camp outside town she liked to go. She used to tell me how every tree had a name, a history, a family, even kids. She laughed, pulling herself on the highest branches and telling me the most enchanted things about fauna and flora. She was an enchanted being, after all.

“The nymphs are my friends!” She giggled excitedly, hugging a tree, “They live inside the trees, y’know, and they tell everyone’s secrets,” she sat by my side, looking at me with the biggest smile.
“What kind of secrets do they tell you?” I asked truthfully interested. Everyone would say she was crazy, but I knew better.
She giggled again, giddy that I took interest in her magical stories. And how could I not? She was the most ethereal being that ever existed, and I was completely willing to let her enchant me.

I sat by a tree. This one had almost all her leaves on the ground, they crunched under my feet and I enjoyed the sound. But I didn’t choose it for its fallen leaves. This tree had a history and it knew everything about me and her.
We had spent several days and nights sat underneath her. It was the only one I dared to climb, and it was one of the highest. I shivered with every movement. She laughed at me, saying that this tree wouldn’t let me fall, and when I asked why she said simply:

“She likes you, Seul. She told me you’ve drawn her with a peach dress and cute bangs, so she decided to be your protector,” she held my hand and brought me to her.
“How does she know I drew her?” I asked, really confused this time.
“You’re always drawing, I guess she just paid attention,” she shrugged.

And she was right, as always. Whenever I tried to climb any other tree (during any moment of my life) I’d fall, but not on her. This tree had known me, had liked me, and was my protector like she had said.
I took my drawing notebook out of my backpack, supported my back on her trunk, and put a cigarette on my lips. I wouldn’t dare to light it on her presence, knowing very well how damaging it would be for her. But I just needed to feel it on my lips, I needed it to ground me.
Finding the perfect position, I started drawing the sunset with all its colors. All its hues and waves and smiles. She used to tell me even the sun had a personality, how it had bad days and it showed on its rays of light.

“How can the sun have a bad day? Isn’t he going to appear on another side of the world? Isn’t it always
“Look, the water is dull today, even if it’s the sunset,” she told me, hugging my waist while I laid my head on her shoulder. This felt like home, she felt like home. “He must’ve had a bad day,” her lips twitched to the side, showing how worried she felt.day for him?” I asked, confused and knowing she wouldn’t judge me. We were used to each other, used to each other perks and curiosities. She knew a lot about nature and its feelings, I knew a lot about drawings and mathematics, and, somehow, we managed to work out together.
“He sees everything, though. He sees all the bad and good, he is never hiding from a fight or complaining, he gives light and energy for everyone. It is more than expected that he might have bad days, when his light won’t shine as bright, when he needs a break from all bad things and goes to another side of the world hoping things are better,” she said simply, as if she had always known this, as if this was obvious, and then kissed my temple.

Today the sun had a great day, which made me glad. Maybe today he saw more good than bad, maybe today he had a nice talk with a star. I didn’t know what had happened (she wasn’t there to tell me) but I knew something good was up for him.
Whenever he was happy, my drawings got a lighter trace. But not today. Today I felt dull. Today I felt all the longing and loneliness she had left me with. It was hard not to think of her every day, especially when she made every natural element hers. Every color belonged to her. Even the dark ones. I guess, the only color that wasn’t hers was grey, but I didn’t want anything that wasn’t related to her.
That is why I was sitting by the tree where we had our first kiss, looking at the most magical sunset I’ve ever had the pleasure to watch, wearing her blue dress, and drawing everything. The cigarettes were the only thing that was mine. She hated them. She hated when she would arrive at my house and saw me on my third or fourth “death stick” as she liked to call them. I’d still smoke them.

“This is the only thing I hate about you, Seul,” she took the cigarette out of my mouth, throwing it away.
“Not all of us can be perfect like you, my sweet dryad,” I said while taking my opened pack away from her, knowing that if she got the chance, she’d throw it away.
“At least you could’ve chosen a fault that didn’t include killing yourself slowly,” she crossed her arms over her chest, clearly upset.
“I didn’t choose it,” I argued, putting my fingers on the loops of her worn out blue jeans, “It came for me on my sleep and choked me with its smoke for several nights, until I started to crave it,” my voice was low, only for her to hear it.
Her lips quivered. She knew my words were far from just a metaphor, they were my past spoke in a more poetic way. I tended to do that a lot. I studied engineering but never lost the habit of reading poems and writing my own. So she knew about my smoky past. And she hated it. I hated it too, but there was nothing left for us to do. We couldn’t change the past, and I was far from wanting to quit my deathly habit.

No purple.
There was no purple today.
It meant she wouldn’t come. And I suddenly felt like crying. Actually, I was already crying. I drew the landscape perfectly like I was accustomed to doing. She used to tell me I was born for the arts, both book and painting, not all those numbers