starry ni

7

My top 6 favorite of Nakamura Yuuichi

The INTJ obsession™

-becomes an expert overnight (“I don’t need sleep, I need answers!”)

-always thinking about it (see how it connects with *other abscure theory*! Ideas! plans! projects!)

-always talking about it (Facts! And rants!)

-desperately looks for someone with the same interest

-changes his life plan accordingly to it (how about getting a degree in that field? Meanwhile I already booked 2 conferences about ut, wanna come?)

i visit van gogh on a day when i am tired and soft in my vulnerability 
breathe quietly and try to remember how to beat a heart in time 
my veins stutter and i press quaking fingers to my wrists 

my isolation is heavy on my shoulders.
this is something i have made for myself 
out of wastes and dark, thickly hot deserts 
there is nobody to blame for this but myself 

i have buried myself 
but with that, there is no one left to leave flowers on my grave

van gogh remains silent. 
stuck in a painting 
starry night 
starry ni-
star-

st-a r ry ni g-ht.
my hands itch for a pen. 
for a keyboard. 
i push them into my coat pockets and tilt my head 
try to look at this painting differently

i am alone in this art gallery. 

people mill around me 
but i am the only one who does not move 
feet planted solidly in front of beauty 
i can feel the tears start to rise 
my eyes turning shiny and watery 
i can feel my sadness well like blood in a shallow cut 

van gogh says nothing 
trapped in a painting 
i think,
“you were sad too”

and i am stuck in a space right then 
between real and tired and blurred 
and the beauty i can sink myself into 
pull the ethereality hanging like mist around that artwork 
over my shoulders like a shroud
cover myself with it 
choke myself with it 

i cannot remember what it is to breathe 
tears spill over 
track down my cheeks 
the other gallery-goers do not notice 
van gogh gazes without opinion from his canvas 
i am vulnerable 

soft
sad 
a million brushstrokes 
an artist’s remorse
and a poet’s death.

—  art blues (i never liked monet as much as you) // H.S.