There was the tree. I remmeber it all the perfectly. Me and him, coming here all the time to excape from the world. He loved to draw and thought that this was the perfect spot. I always came with him

He always told me I had that kind of face that was gental, yet ferce. He siad I was the perfect suject. He used to always sketch me in some position, and I was always by this tree.

This used to be the perfect spot. This tree in the middle of nowhere. It was truely the place to get away from it all, somewhere where you could really be yourself.

And where was he now? Up there, in the sky. And why? Because the one time I didn’t come with him something happened. I didn’t come because I was too tired. So, he went anyway, and he died. He probably knew that there was a storm comeing. He probably figured it would look great by The Tree. That’s probably why he wanted so despritaly to go.

But that’s the thing. It’s all probablies. We will never really know what he was thinking, all because I wasn’t there…