A Boy, His Love, and a Willow Tree

Once, in a village, long before any of us were born, there sat a boy beneath a tree by the river. He came every day and thought of his love. He was overtaken by the sheer beauty of the tree; how it still stood amidst all the hardships it had faced. He admired it, and loved it. But there was one, a girl in the village that he truly loved with all his heart. So he came here every day, just to think. Little else caught his attention.
Then one day, while he was there, she happened to pass. Seeing him, she came over and sat by him.
"Hello," she said simply, and he in return.
"Do you come here often?" she asked.
"Yes. It is a favorite spot of mine."
"Why?"
"Because it is a place where I can think."
"Think of what?"
"The one I love."
"That's silly," she said, "I don't believe in love."
"Oh?"
"No. Not at all. I think the whole idea is just silly. There are only passions and desires. No one really loves anybody."
"Then -- you haven't had anyone ever love you?"
"Oh plenty of men say they have, but I know they don't really mean it. If there is a such thing as love, I haven't ever had it. So i don't believe in it."
"You don't believe in it because you've never had it?"
"Well," she laughed, "I've had everything. If I haven't had it, then it doesn't exist."
"And what if," he began slowly, "I said I loved you?"
There was a pause as she thought it over. Then
"Strangely enough, I'd say you're the only person I'd believe it from. And I say...I do think I love you too. Maybe there is a such thing as love."
"there is," he said, "Because I love you."
They sat there for a long time in silence, enjoying the others company and they're newfound love. And so it went from then on. They would meet there everyday beneath the willow. Oftentimes they would never say a word at all, because nothing needed to be said. They were in love and that was all that mattered. Some days they would talk, but never for long. Sometimes about happenings in the village, their own lives, or what they believed.
"John?" she said one day.
"Yes?"
"Do you really love me?"
"You know I do."
"Then why don't we get married?"
"If that is what you want then we shall."
"But don't you want to?"
"Of course."
That night he approached her father and asked for his daughter's hand in marriage. There was a long pause.
"No."
He felt something drop in his stomach. "What?"
"No," the father repeated. "I believe that you love her and that she loves you. But you are poor."
The next day, he sat at the willow. She did not come all that day. Nor the next day. Finally, after a week, he visited her house.
"She is not home." said the servent.
"Do you know where I might find her?"
The servent hesitated, "Some man came by to collect her. Said something about a walk in the forest."
Anger, jealousy, and, most of all, fear exploded desperately in John. He ran to where he knew the forest path to be. He ran down the path as fast as he could. Every heartbeat sent fear pounding through his veins, his fingers tingled with the sensation. A sense of desperate fear deep within his chest sucked everything else out. His heart beat a labored rythm, ready to give in to the pain. everything turned inward. His footsteps pounded into the ground, leaving behind deep desperate impressions. His heart was breaking, he was surprised it still worked. His mind flew into overdrive considering every possibility and every consequence. Oh God, oh God, he thought. He tripped on a root and fell facedown. Rising on his knees and turning his face towards heaven he screamed. Tears cut tracks in his dirty face. My love, my love, he thought. Oh God! And he kept running.
Finally, he found them. Startled, they turned. At first they did not recognize him. Then, past the dirty and fearful face they saw him.
"Oh John!" she exclaimed immediatly, "We are to be married!"
"W-what?" he could hardly believe it. Had her father changed his mind? Hope blossomed in his heart.
"Yes!" she held her companion close. "Charles talked to my father last night. Oh isn't it wonderful! I love him so much!"
The flower died in his chest. No, he thought, God no!
"But," his eyes darted from side to side trying to find a way out. "He is poor. How will he provide for you?"
"Oh my father is rich enough for the two of us."
He thought he might faint; his heart, oh his heart. There was a cliff near the path. A ravine that had been carved and cut through the ages by the stream that ran through. It was deep and on this side cut off sharply because a recent earthquake had caused part of the edge to fall off. It dammed up the stream, making it run no more. John could hardly stand. And then his fear and anger gave him strength. He leaped up from the ground, seized the two of them, and hurled them over the side. They didn't even have time to cry out. They died instantly. His heart went with them. He stood aghast at what he had done for a moment, his mind still on overdrive. But no. It was all a dream. Any moment he would wake up. They would meet again in their spot. Yes that was it. No. Not a dream. He must have just imagined it. She must be further up the path. Yes that was it. Any moment he would see her and she would tell him she loved him. Yes. Of course. He ran up the path a ways only to find no one. Where is she, he thought. He called her name a few times only to hear it echo back in the ravine. He glanced down, maybe that was her calling back, playing a trick on him? And then he saw her. No. Not a dream. Not imagination. It was real. He hurried down to her. Slowly, shaking he knelt beside her. She was lying on her side, eyes opened wide, her mouth slightly open in surprise. Her head was bent in an awkward angle; the neck was broken. A faint trickle of blood ran from her mouth. He sobbed. Gently he nudged her.
"Get up," he sobbed, "stop being so cruel. Get up! Talk to me!"
But she was dead. He shook her more roughly finally screaming "Get up!" But she was dead.
In a frenzy he raced back to the willow. He knelt by the river, scrubbing his hands furiously. Oh God help me! He thought. My love, my love! Help me!
He crawled back beneath the willow weeping. And the tree, the blessed tree, wept with him, sharing his sorrow. He lay there for a long time in between the roots. And then the desperation rose to a climax in his chest. His heart could no longer Perform it's function in pieces, and quite all at once stopped beating. He died there, where it had all started. But the willow kept on weeping. It died with him not an hour later. It couldn't keep living without him. Because nothing can live without love.