She, Rachel, was mentioned in passing,
In a letter addressed to his brother, Theo.
She was just a girl that he had maybe loved.
Maybe more than loved. he didn't really know her,
But we would later learn how far he would go.
What's more than loved? felt possessive towards?
Felt protective of? idolized? worshipped?
These all sound unbalanced.
Some people enjoy that passion.
The yellow house crumbled underneath of it.
That unbalance must be balanced.
Somehow, someway.
It can balance the world.
It can scare you to death.
It can push people away.
In time, it did all of these things.
He lived where tulips grow as rows of rainbows
And beards in winter kept his face warm and orange.
Where the water rests high above his head.
Where windmills turn to mill the fields of wheat.
Influenced by spirituality found in potatoes
Being consumed under dim light.
Influenced by the subtly curved right angles of elderly woman
Hunched over, farming the famished fields.
Repeatedly painting vases of turning souls, tournesol.
Influenced by color as we don't tend to notice,
Influenced by starlight behind a cypress night,
Influenced by the ideals of an eastern world and
Almond blossoms against a blue sky.
He was mad. a genius.
A man outside his time.
He gave her his ear; the whole thing,
Except for a partial earlobe.
He put it in a box for her
And delivered it personally.
Hoping she would listen.
At least thats what i like to think.
'Cause why the **** else would you cut
Your **** ear off and give it to someone
You only know from a distance?
Maybe it was just to hear he voice.
We don't know what he was thinking when he cut off his ear but thats what i like too think. as far off as that maybe. he did it at a time when his "reality" seemed to be slipping out of his control. He was troubled and incredible. And her name wasn't Rachel, it was Gabrielle Berlatier.