—dedicated to the muse behind almost all of the works I’ve ever written. Farewell, רַבִּי.
For a long time, you’ve become an inspiration to my written works, knowing well you’ll never get to read any of it. As someone who finds comfort bleeding on pages of paper, portraying you in it became a known habit of mine. Bleeding to express how torturing it is to love and hope for a soul like yours. I still remember vividly how you leave this room where we used to outline our plans and paint colorful future together, thinking we knew everything in life at that time. You went away, leaving the canvas we’ve made with our bare hands. Memories. This room used to be your favorite place, don’t you? It’s now an empty room with marks of the past all over it. You left ages ago but this room still echoes your name. Does it hunt you the same way it does to me? Or perhaps it is now a long-forgotten memoir…
This is me moving forward. I knew what we had was real, but time—the greatest truth-teller of all—revealed its authenticity. And we didn’t pass its test. We are near the end of the tunnel. As we approach the border of the past and present, I know in the same way this string that keeps us intertwined will now release its grip on us. You know I hope I’d see you in the future. But perhaps moving on would not be possible with that mindset. Perhaps this is the time to turn the promises we’ve created into ashes. It is the time to destroy the plans we’ve built. Destroy the canvas we have painted “should have, could have, would have” But wait… Is it possible to destroy something that was never started building in the first place?
Your beauty possessed me for a long time. Your voice became a soothing symphony to my ears. It has been a long journey; thank you for bringing me to the end of the tunnel. I knew this day would come. When the tears in my eyes finally went dry, the engine of the roller coaster finally made its trumpet sound—indicating the ride is about to end. When city lights will turn off one by one. When I’ll finally witness the sun rising in the east. When the rain stopped pouring, the rainbow is in the morning sky, symbolizing a hopeful future ahead of me, but this time, without picturing you in it.”
Red
Writings of Red 