Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him.
Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn't possibly have any direct correlation to one's happiness, but i never saw that.
It's really no different than falling in love or taking drugs. There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better.
‘Everybody has their own yellow paint’
Once, I happened to close my eyes, and I met a figure, who promised me a textbook view of the ocean, away from the snaking city lights. Medusa-like in their paralyzing beauty.
He emerged, majestic and full of charisma.
Poisedon, he said he was.
So I wanted to get to him, see where he was. I was definitely facing a cut from reality. But he drew me towards my yellow paint.
So I drove into the dark road I turn onto a roughly paved shore. Stiff trunks and treetops wave goodbye from the roadside.
I was oblivious to anything happening around me as I walked towards the water. I saw him emerge from the centre, I wanted to get to him.
Unrealistic, lethal and yet, I knew that’s where I’d find happiness.
The search was over.
So I kept walking,
I went deeper
I heard people screaming and asking me to come back.
But this was surreal,
There was light,
There was another future waiting there for me.
I stopped for a bit, looked back.
I was drowning,
Everything seemed hazy,
Visions of policemen in orange reflective vests pulled by search dogs for a scent, a scrap of cloth, followed me.
And then, it happened.
I saw him, he came towards.
It was crazy, the aura.
He places a hand on the dip of my back to guide me, like Hades, into his world.
I was drowning, but I was happy.
I finally, found my yellow paint,
There was no trace of me left to find.
I found it,
My yellow paint.
Everybody has their yellow paint.