The one who loves and dreams

The blank canvas cries rainbow-like paint, it was empty and lonely. Filled with sorrow that became more and more suffocating, as if it strangling you each time you locked your gaze on it, yet you have your eyes glued to it. You brushed your love all over the canvas, and now it cries. The tears were colorful and vivid, like a painting, it was picturesque.

The black tint fell, swallowing the room and drowning me until I can’t breathe. And you open the door, exposing the dirty dishes in the sink, the 2-month-old sheets, the paper full of red tainted scribble drawn like a string, and the God's most lonesome existence. The room was still tainted by the black tint nonetheless, however, you let them breathe. The breath of years full of torment, of empty dreams.

And I will remember the way your voice flowed in the entire room, the way you paint like there was no tomorrow, the way you wrote the most world-shocking strands of words, the way you put your faith in loving God’s creation, the way you listened to the countless despair and told me that it’s okay, it’s okay to just live, to dream or to not dream, to only loves what you love. You bewitched me. You lent me your strength, your love, it was on fire, it was full of warmness.

The blank canvas cries black tint, they might not be colorful, they might not be bright. But they didn’t scream the tears of a void, it was whispering. I couldn’t hear their voice, but I know it whisper the desire and a dream of the loneliest creature.

And I might want to know, how it feels to dream, to love. Just the way you do, just the way I learned it from you.