A Beautiful Boy on a Hill

I could never be able to read your mind. You have big brown eyes--crystal clear. Having those big beautiful eyes, it should be easy to enter through them and then read your mind. But, I don't know what or why I have never been able to read you, not to mention understand you. 

You always come that way: running up to the hill as if someone is waiting for you and you are late. I can feel the spark of hope every time I hear your footsteps getting closer. I think the wild rabbit can also feel that. This rabbit—I don't know how you are connected with him—will also come here as you arrive. You will take him, kiss him, and talk to him as if you two are best friends meeting to have an afternoon tea. But, there is no tea here, no laughter, but the song of birds and certain bugs. Sometimes, you bring carrot for the rabbit. I always wonder if you know that this rabbit doesn't live here, he comes only when you drop by. 

It is always at dusk every time you come here. At first, I thought it's because of the rabbit. Lately, I know or I supposed to know that it's not about the rabbit, nor about the beautiful sunset you can see from this hill. Your beautiful eyes will always wander about the paths leading to train station in the foot of the hill. It’s on the opposite site of where you come from. Sometimes, I see you closing your eyes tight and then saying prayers—I guess. I can tell it from the move of your lips and your hands' language. Afterwards, you will open your eyes slowly and then eagerly stare at the far paths. You will wait a moment and then get disappointed. Once a while, you seem contemplate while staring blankly to the far yellow-reddish sky. The rabbit will stay next to you, eating grasses or simply resting or accompanying you—unnoticed. 

I guess you are nine or ten years old. Most boys your age usually play a kite or play in park or watch TV at home at this time. But you are not typical boy, I think. I know it by looking through your eyes or from the way you stare that path and sunset and those birds flying home. Your eyes hide something I couldn't even guess. 

As the sun slips into the far west, the light of your big beautiful eyes will also off.  I can feel that you are so sad that I want to hug you and say nice words to ease your feeling. I have never had that chance.

You will walk down the hill after kissing the rabbit. The rabbit will soon run and disappear among the bushes. I can hardly feel the spark of hope you bring when you're running up here. 

Seeing you walking down the hill that way, I always wish I could tell you that the time will come. Someday, you can meet someone you're waiting for. You only need to be patient a little bit. When the time is right, everything will be okay, so you shouldn't be that sad. You are a little boy, beautiful boy. You don't deserve to feel the pain. The pain I've never known but I can feel it so strong. Or oftentimes, I really want to let you know that I'm here next to you—that you are not alone. But thinking about it, it makes me even sadder. I'm nothing but an old tree on a hill.

*Note:

written for Creative Writing Ink