The familiar path to the house where we used to live together. You always said you wanted to have a picturesque view from the windows. As for me at that time, I didn't care as long as you were with me. I couldn't understand though how that black and white view could ever be picturesque.
The thicket of untouched faded grass whips and prickles my legs while I go further to reach the wry door.
The light-grey sunlight comes in through the boarded-up windows. The pockety air hit my nose when I come in.
I think nothing has changed in the house since the last day you had lived here. Because I see nothing changed since that day I had left you.
We chose this furniture together. You laughed at me, saying I didn't understand anything in design. But more than I, you were the extraordinary one, because what had you meant by 'design'? What else could it have been than shades of gray?
A lonely line of footprints is left behind me on the floor when I am going to the staircase, which leads upstairs. Even the floorboards creak the same way they used to. I always hated this noise but you said that it sounded like music. I made fun of you and you got offended. But you know, I may understand you now.
Everything inside may be the same but without you, this house feels alien. Somehow, you could make everything feel real. You were always dreaming of a colorful sunrise, no matter how many times I told you that all the things in this world were made only of two colors – black and white.
We were sitting here, on this balcony. That was the last time we saw each other. Where you looking at this empty chair when I left you? Did we both regret the words which weren't said? I never gave a thought how important you were to me.
I turn around to leave the balcony and to return to our bedroom. There had never been any painting on the wall. Did you hang it after I left?
My hands, worn and calloused by the years; I run them along the fluted picture frame. The painting is covered by the dusted glass. A clear line reveals what is behind after I rub the dust on the glass with my finger.
What I see – my eyes can't believe in!
I run to tear off the boards from the windows. The rusty nails might pierce my hands; however, I can't care much of myself anymore.
What would you say if you knew that I was waiting for the time when I would crush? I hope, then I will stop reaping the shame for all the fear, all the guilt, and all the cheers I created in your world.
Surely, you would have shouted at me for such stupidity.
Finding some rug, I hurry to wipe the framing glass.
All this time you were waiting for a way to show the world all the colors that existed in your mind. You were made to give up all yourself to fulfill the dream, you were born to feel this black and white world in color.
On that painting, on a bright day, I stand beneath the huge willow trees. Their green leaves whisper happy words but the trees still give away the feeling of internal weeping. Flowers of blue, and red, and yellow are inwoven into the tender green grass. I stand on the edge of the silver lake, casting stones to make the waves.
I am the one who created the waves in your world
and only you were able to show me