The Lilac Painting of A Silent Yearning.

You know wants and needs at a certain point aren't that far apart. I wonder what makes your wants become needs. Don’t know, well somehow you do. One can wonder; are we like sailors bound to the relentless pull of the moon to the tide, luring towards the spiked rocks of our obsessions. Would we surrender our soul for these cravings?

I wouldn’t mind just a couple times; someone would look this way. But in the night sky there are countless stars to behold, each with its own unique flicker.

“Tristen!!” Sorina exclaimed.

“Mm?”

“I’m in love with Ethan!”

“Yes, you are, "Tristen replied with a knowing smile.

“Huh?”

“Why you like him?”

“In the moments with him I can see the vibrant colour in both our eyes, it's like summer for every single second spent with him, that warm feeling,” She replies, “it's like within the remnants of shared flames, and..."

“…. the memories smoulder like fading embers for that moment to be lived.” Tristen finished for her, enough to puzzle her just for a moment but not enough to wipe away that radiant smile that graced her face.

“Something wrong?”

“Not the slightest.”

Three months passed, days go by like it is, well for me at least. These days felt like a blur lost in the pages of memory. I guess it's different when the usual isn't here. I guess, all I know is to yearn for moments before, but moments now I skip them. Watching those two walk by you, exchanging gestures of greetings, makes you want to feel that warmth too, but maybe humans just aren’t for that painting. Maybe when we gaze upon artworks, we admire them and if we try to understand them, we do it so we can see our reflections within their frames. Only when the painting isn't present with us anymore, we at last appreciate its allure for not just our eyes but others as well.

For Sorina these timeless days seems to revel, smiles of unfamiliar happiness, the world lighter, easier in her presence. Naturally the days swing ever so fast for her. But rather slow, the days goes by for me. Part of me, wishes for bit more scratches on that painting. It's a beautiful painting it is, but a few delicate scars near the edges of that flawless masterpiece wouldn’t hurt. Would it?

After all, I want my painting to be painted different from what it is.

I wonder what Tristen's doing right now, I don’t know. This feeling of warmth isn’t what I desired. I don’t want a love that only sparks, I want one that burns. Although Ethan smiles all the time, has that infectious laugh, comforts me when things sway left. I can see in the depths of his eyes his looking somewhere far away from the world of him and I. I guess something I'm good at is sensing when things are coming to end. It’s a feeling like a phantom hand seizing my heart, with a grip that won't let go. As it releases, it carries the fragments of all else plunging it into the inky abyss, that I've knowingly left unfilled for my whole life.

Tristen told me it's not love if doesn’t hurt, but the ache I bear it seems to be for something else. Perhaps unlocking this warmth that I have desperately sought for all this time, was not my needs. In this pursuit I've lost something else, something that served as compass guiding me through the up and downs, the lefts, and rights. I guess the question that persists: What do I really need?

Not long later, Sorina sees Tristen again, usual place sitting just outside of the coffee shop, where the sunlight is intermingled with the shadows.

“Tristen.”

“Yeh?”

“I got dumped,” Sorina cries with voice that trembled with a mix of sadness and frustration, “why do I have to experience this, why can't I just be like everyone else.”

“Figures, you are just like everyone else you know.”

Her tears flowed freely now “arghh can't you be a bit more supportive for once in your damn life, it's always about you, you know I'm hurting yet you still don’t care.”

“You knew it was coming anyway, should have prepared.”

“What is wrong with you,” She screams, but a scream that resonated with despair

.

Tristen replied almost bored, “You are angry right now, not even at the right person, you shouldn’t be angry anyway, its precisely moments like these that offer the most profound lessons.”

Sorina’s voice quivered as she poured her emotions out. “You have no empathy, you know? It’s as if there's a void replaces the area your heart should be in,” She ventures further into her labyrinth of emotions, “you trap your feelings inside a little box, and I despise you for it.”

“I know that.”

Her tears flowed not solely because of the breakup, but a cry for consolation that only Tristen seemed to offer. “You know, it gets lonely,” She confessed. “People come crashing in and leave just as fast and your left standing, where you started. But this time burdened with memories that hold you from moving forward. Why can't someone spend the rest of their eternity with me until this existence loses its hues?”

In a rare moment of tenderness, Tristen pulls Sorina close, a gesture typically initiated by her. Whenever she detects the slightest change in his usual demeanour. Unusual really, but in this time, it felt like two vivid paintings had collided and splatted into one “You know, many people share this feeling,” He whispered, “but you don’t often notice them through your own lens, and then wonder where everyone has gone when you feel alone. But they are right there.”

It was as if in that moment both souls merged for a fraction of a second, painting a panorama of connection with the strokes of both their vulnerabilities.

“Thank you,” she sighed.

Tristen replied, “Don’t worry, these moments are brief, in time you will find someone whose there for you when the world drifts away.”

“I know you,” she whispered softly, her fingers brushing his face gently. “I know, parts of you that you won’t know till later,” Her words hung heavy in the air. “A part of me wants to but…”

“Don’t,” Tristen interjected, his voice for once cracking, the fragile façade of resilience he built shattered. Tears flowed relentlessly, torrent of emotions that mirrored the depths of his unspoken despair, a river of unexpressed mourning. For the first time in what seemed to be forever, he was crying, tears that even Sorina couldn’t truly comprehend.

“Why, “She asked.

“It because I do to, because my heart bears so much, that I can’t, “He sobbed. His emotional fortitude crumbled, vulnerability left bare, his heart now laid before her like an open book, pages filled with something entirely else. The emptiness that had been a silent companion now found its voice.

She touched his face with her hand, fingers trembling with the unspoken entangled sentiments between them. For a single instant she contemplated on something, words that might of rewrote the very essence of their story, words that might of turned the paintings upside down. But she hesitated, surrendering to the moment and her hands slipped away from his face. That moment slipping through her grasp like trying to catch his tears that dripped through her clenched fists.

“You have the same hollow eyes as Ethan.”

“But those empty eyes aren’t directed to you.”

“Tristen,” she began with a delicate whisper, “you fancy purple.”

“And you Sorina,” he replied with a bittersweet smile, “you prefer blue.”

“You know.” Sorina shared, “Life is like fading photograph, each of us a memory….”

Tristen chimed in, “…and when our memories blur and fade the photo album hauntingly becomes an empty book.”

With that the velvet curtain of night revealed itself forming an obsidian expanse across the skies, Sorina slipped ever so slowly away into the embrace of the darkness. Her form like a wisp of smoke, dissolves into the lifeless void.

Tristen left with nothing but to gaze towards the aether, his eyes falling upon the vast cosmos, the countless stars, like fragments of his lost dreams, shimmered and twinkled, each holding the very secrets and stories that were never told. They painted constellations that only Tristen’s imagination could untangle. His eyes mesmerized by those stars.

Walking back, the world around him melted into a foggy dreamscape, until he stumbles across an old man that seemed to be living in the embodiment of an old photograph. His existence painted the shades of black and white.

Fixating his gaze on Tristen the old man seems to peer into the depths of his soul, his voice then rang out with curiosity and asked. “What’s wrong good sir, you don’t look so well.”

His also good at reading people Tristen thought, it seems today emotions are a little harder to hide.

“Nothing significant, just realising it's all coming to a conclusion,” Tristen replied offering a half-smile.

“I guess you see the stars differently to me,” the old man chuckled.

“Oh, I guess I do,” Tristen nodded, “You see each moment as a star in the night sky, where in the ending darkness it illuminates. When it ends, they reveal themselves”.

“Ah yes,” he smiles deepened, “you my friend know that the fading glow of a dying star brings the birth of new constellations in your journey in this cosmic theatre. For you a conductor of these stars”

“Answer this.” Tristen asked almost impatiently. “Life is like fading photograph, each of us a memory….”

“…and in our ephemerality, we find the true artistry of existence.”

A small smile spread across Tristen's face but left before the old man could even notice.

“I long for the day, a whisper of hope perhaps, that I might finally notice your wisdom,” Tristen exhaled.

“I know you will maybe not in this world, but in yours.”

With that the old man faded just like rest of the world into the background of the photograph and Tristen too falls away.

A couple months danced by likes fleeting butterflies. Sorina found herself sitting next to Tristen, smiles at him with a twinkle in her eyes that reflected the evening red and yellow skies. She leans towards him and whispers in delight, “I think I’ve fallen for Eric!”

“Oh, how wonderful.” His words seemed like they could harmonize beautifully with hers, creating a melody of shared sweetness.

The rest of the conversation melted into the background, like a murmur from the wind. Sorina departed with a heart full of joy, when suddenly, like an unexpected storm, a chilling warning washed over her. Like as if the seas had pulled her in, drowning her entirely. The feeling of it all coming to end. This time without hesitation, full of unwavering determination, she sprints to Tristan apartment, making every breath, every second count, each step a plea to outrun the looming conclusion.

Arriving at the elevator, time itself seemed to stretch, taking for what seemed to be an eternity. Each second seemed to take a year of her life away as she ascended the 20 floors.

She arrives at his apartment opening the door with the spare keys, he gave when they first met. Eyes darting anxiously from left to right. Something was horribly wrong. Her eyes fell upon the balcony on the other side of the house, the curtains of the balcony were open, curtains that rarely let in the outside world. On the balcony floor laid an isolated letter, waiting for her to pick it up.

From Tristen to her.

You know me so well don’t you, perhaps better than myself, I know you found this first.

I implore you, I beg you, with every fibre of my being, please, before anything else unfolds, don’t go on board the path I suspect you might go.

I beg you, of all the things I want, this one time I ask you to please don’t do it. I will never forgive myself if you do. I know that’s cruel; I know its selfish, buts it’s all I want, all I need.

You breathed life into my days, making each moment radiant with your presence you know; I yearn for endless hours in your company. I wished that time had stretched its wings when we were together, even one more second with you I would die for.

You gave me a warmth, that won’t be forgotten, a need that I didn’t know I needed. Promise me you will carry on, seize each day like it's your last, show the strength and passion you’ve shown me.

For as I find my rest in the eternal night, know that I will forever be by your side, watching you grow old as you rock your chair, sowing shirts for your grandchildren. Loving you with every whisper of the wind, every spark of a flame, every drop of the rain, every ray from the sun and every beat of your heart.

With all my heart, I won't forget.

I Love You in all worlds.

 Tristen.

The letter descends through the heavy air like a feather to the cold-hearted floor, as if time has slowed to mourn this tragedy. She collapses bit by bit along with letter, her world has crumbled, not in one shattering moment, but in agonizing fragments of grief that dug deep into her very heart. Each tear that escaped her eyes carried with it a piece of her soul, as if her existence was being taken away thread by thread.

A pain that couldn’t ever be put in words had gripped her, enchanting her with a dark spell, that seized her body, mind, and heart, left helpless to its relentless grasp. Her cries echoed in the empty room. A pain, a torment that only those who had tasted this bitter could slightly understand.

The world turned upside down, every corner of her existence ached with the heavy burden of realisation, and she finally knows why. That moment not long ago, she remembers now, that moment where she hesitated. She replays it endlessly, a restless cycle, regret that reverberated through the chamber of her soul. A cycle of “if only”.

 If only! she cried out those unspoken words, if only! she had seized the opportunity to rewrite their story.

She cries out, a scream that’s so deafening it can’t be heard by the mortal ears, a wail of despair, a howl of regret that surpassed the boundaries of sound. A scream that resonated with the collective pain, only those who felt it could hear. Sorina knows she will live with that regret, a relentless fire bound to consume her heart. A regret that will immobilize her heart indefinitely. A regret that will burn forever. As the void she had long left alone, replaces her heart.

“I’m sorry Tristen,” she sobbed, an apology that was a mere whisper in the extensive emptiness that had swallowed her.

Muffled movements were heard as something gracefully descends from the balcony, a silent echo of her anguish. It landed besides Tristen. Two stars laying down to rest. A trembling pinkie found its way to Tristen’s thumb, a touch as delicate as firefly wings. Their fingertips met. In that brief contact, a lifetime of precious moments and tears passed between them.

The sky was transitioned through a continuum of colours. Gentle blues and royal purples were painted across the heavens. The deep blues swept across the skies like strokes of a painter’s brush, filling the atmosphere with a profound sense of sorrow, the diminishing day, showed the fading hope. A hope that their connection could have weathered any storm. A hope that had now fallen into pieces of glass.

The purples unfurled their royal tones with a grace that seemed otherworldly. They swept across the sky, carrying a mystery of unspoken sentiments. layering the unexplored depths of their relationship, the intricate emotions they shared. A colour that spoke of something lost, something unfulfilled, a quiet ache that forever haunts their memories.

And when the two colour converged it created a lilac hue that stretched across the horizon. A bittersweet, soft and ethereal connection, each shade mirroring a chapter of what was. A final painting. A shared painting of masterpiece, that shared the laughter and the tears. It is a painting that would forever hang in the gallery of their souls, serving as an eternal reminder of what it could have been. Forever echoing. Forever screaming "if only"...

“If sorrow and joy intertwine across this realm and the other, why bother dream at all.” Tristen wondered.

He drops the blue and purple paintbrushes on the table finally laying them to rest in the silence.

He gently grasp opens the heavy velvet curtains, as they gracefully part a breath-taking spectacle unfolds.

What an exquisite view he thought...

"If Only"

In a sudden surreal twist, a murder of crows, the messengers of the otherworldly, take flight. Their wings smudging the skies with a blend of black and white. 

Yet admits the whirlwind of chaos, one element remains untouched by the ceaseless march of time. 

The artistry adoring the table: The Lilac Painting of a Silent Yearning.