You are beautiful, but you always deny it. You are beautiful, not only in the way you look, but in all different kinds of ways. I still remember the first time I saw you, in a crowded street. People were staring at you, giving you weird glances, judging you, for you had blue hair. Your hair as blue as the cloudless sky. You are stunning, unique, and brave, for you rebelled against society and be who you wanted to be. I walked up to you, told you that you were beautiful, especially that blue hair of yours. That was the very first time that I told you that you are beautiful. You looked at me, dead in the eyes, like you could look through my body and into my soul. And you smiled, a smile that could lit up the dark side of the moon, so tragically beautiful. "Thank you" you said, "It's too bad I couldn't keep the hair after chemo next week." We have been friends ever since.
You love to paint, colours filled up your world, for you were given a paintbrush and the sky is your canvas. You always paint and left paint splattered all over you and never bothered to clean yourself up, for you are too lost in your world, in your world of colours. You are too busy breathing life into the blank canvases, using every stroke on your paintbrush carefully, trying to not ruin the painting that you are bringing life upon, for all life should be treated sacredly. You love flowers, you have a garden full of flowers at the back of your house. Roses, lilies, chrysanthemum, the flowers are beautiful, just like you. You taught me the language of flowers, roses for love, lilies for majesty and chrysanthemum for truth. I gave you alyssums once, for you are worth beyond beauty. You act recklessly, living life like there is no tomorrow. You once told me that life is like a handful of sand, slowly slipping away like time, and the sand that sticks on your hand in the end are the memories worth holding on to.