My brother told me the tale about the beautiful boy.
About how when the beautiful boy first came to the town, his smile outshined the sun that blazed on the locals, and they despised him for it.
About how the beautiful boy could change the seasons, an eternal summer dwelling within him, the moss of spring in his laid-back eyes, the breezes of autumn in his voice and the winter that befell him.
About how the beautiful boy possessed the essences of nature, the calmness of an everlasting ocean, the subtle scent of lavender enveloped into his skin, the melodies of black nightingales encompassing him, the softness of a picked peach and the aroma of magnolias in a gentle wind.
About how the beautiful boy was blessed with an undying benevolence, his breath gentle like the wind in spring, the soft glow of warmth in his embrace, the eloquence of his words in letters, his sweet kisses in the rain, the discreet taste of summer fruits and mint herbs and his sacred generosity towards others.
And about how the beautiful boy was hated. About how his time was cut short, because of jealousy, because of what they did not understand, because the beautiful boy was the embodiment of beauty. About how the beautiful boy’s letters were ripped apart, how the fruits became mould, how the flowers died, how his eyes darkened as they closed, and an eternal winter befell the town because the beauty had been destroyed. About how the beautiful boy was feared because there was a fear for the beautiful, and how all beautiful things were doomed to die.
But the beautiful boy would not die, he was more than a martyr for love, a venerated shrine in my brother’s soul, he was nature, and the winter would fade into spring, for he was the beautiful boy.
Original Image by Anonymous.