Angelic. That was the first thing I thought of when I saw you. You were painting a mural on the school wall; wearing paint-splattered overalls and your hair was in a messy bun that was halfway down already. You waved your painbrush around like a wand, humming to yourself as you danced around to a silent melody. Your eyes were smiling, and your fingers were stained in pinks and blues.
You were so pretty. Every now and then, my eyes would travel to you in the hallways. You with your too big glasses that always slipped. You with your ink-doodled hands. You with a smear of paint on your cheek, a different color each day. You with your smile that lit up half your face until your eyes were squeezed into thin slits.
I think I fell in love with you. You worked on your mural for a whole month. I walked the long way to my car everyday, just to catch a glimpse at you painting. You painted with everything in you. You painted as if your life depended on it. You painted like it was the last thing you would ever do. I watched you everyday and you never noticed, you never saw me, and perhaps that was why you seemed like an angel. Simply because I never saw who you really were, I saw you for who I wanted you to be. I put up a mirage of you and I never bothered to know the real you.
You were like your mural. Beautiful, vibrant, lovely. Just something for people to admire. One day, I passed by your mural and you weren’t there. And, it’s funny to say but it was that moment that I finally realized what you were painting. You painted an angel reaching up to the heavens above, while being dragged down by human hands. It was a piece of art, your mural. The angel’s face was solemn, but not sad. They were reaching in hopes for help. They were being pulled down by selfish hands. They were suffering for their own selflessness.
I never saw you again after your mural was completed. You know, I should’ve talked to you. Just once for all those days I passed by. I guess I just thought that I would have more time. No one expects it to happen, and I expected least of all that it would happen to you. You were so vibrant, so delightful, so full of joy. Or rather, that was the mirage of you that I chose to see. Maybe if I had looked closely, I would’ve seen you tearing along the seams. Maybe if I had chosen to see the real you, I would’ve realized how much that beauty was close to falling apart. Maybe I could’ve helped you.
I should’ve said hello. Classmates of ours, friends of yours, and your family were all gathered at your funeral. We weren’t even close, so I didn’t feel like I should go. Instead, I went to your mural. By then, some of the paint had faded a little, not as bright as the first day I had seen it. I sat in front of your mural for the rest of the day, skipping all my classes. I didn’t even leave when the sky turned into a blanket of stars, or when the campus lights started flickering on. I stayed in the cold, looking at your mural, as I had looked at you for a whole month. I think I know why you painted it. The angel was you, wasn’t it? You were reaching for someone who could be your friend, someone who could know you for who you truly were. But people had taken advantage of your kindness, dragging you down with their greed. They had gotten a taste of what it meant to be loved, and now they were poisoned from it, hungry for more. They took everything from you, your smile, your laugh, your kindness. You just wanted to be loved.
You were an angel. I wonder, was I just another person dragging you or was I someone who you were reaching for?
Haven't posted here in a while. Had some major writer's block, but I'm here now! Kinda.