This is from Crete. It's pretty. Right?
It's like some people you meet in the world- all nice and clean and matching on the outside, maybe even giving off a scent of fresh pine and maybe even for the most part, their voices come at you like a soft stream, a rush of refreshing water.
You like being with them. Like doing the most mundane activities... if at least you are in their company. And they give back, in the sharing of their beauty, in the wise words, in the intricate thoughts they spout effortlessly. It's oh... so... pretty.
And then, like this gorge in Crete, you turn a corner and the sun is directly in your eyes and you see it all as a lie. It's stark and dirty. Your feet hurt from walking too far, the promises that were made at the top of the hike are just cruel dreams. You will never be free. The wise words and soft whisperings sound like screeching vultures circling overhead. Your water bottle is empty and your throat constricts. Your ankle twists on a flat rock gone round and you begin to feel more deceived. The pretty is gone.
All you have now is endurance fueled by anger.
Until time passes and you look again upon a photograph and see the beauty. Your mind chooses only to remember the best moments, the parts someone might point out and call... pretty.
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