A Solitary Man Under the Stars – Van Gogh

The night deepened, and the wind blew across the hills of Provence.
The sky spun, the stars breathed, and blue ripples spread out like a dream.
Van Gogh sat by the window, the light flickering, his eyes reflecting a universe vaster than reality.
It was a blazing night sky, and also a heart that refused to remain silent.

His world lacks quiet lines.

Wind surges across the canvas, light flows through the paint, blue and yellow entangled in a vortex of fate.

Under his hand, the starry sky is no longer just a sky, but a map of the soul.

Every swirling arc speaks of unspeakable pain and heat.

People called him crazy.
But he simply saw deeper.
In his eyes, wheat fields weren’t crops, but waves of the soul;
sunflowers weren’t flowers, but the breath left by the sun.
He used color as his language, light in place of words—
In every painting, he emptied his heart and set it ablaze.

• Loneliness was his shadow.
  He had loved, lost, and struggled.
  Through the cracks in his soul, he saw another side of the world.
  That side wasn’t found in church frescoes or in the collections of princes; it existed in the interweaving of wind, oil paint, starlight, and tears.

He spent his life searching for warmth.
That warmth came from light and from people.
But the crowds were too noisy, and the light too far away.
So he surrendered himself to the canvas,
and found his own eternity in the echo of color.

Today, the starry sky continues to rotate.
People pause in front of the museum, gazing up at the swirling blue.
No one could have known that the starlight that night was actually the image of a lonely heart,
burning itself with its last ounce of strength.