I have always loved Vincent Van Gogh and his art.

Whenever I gazed upon those vivid colors as a child,
my imagination would paint me my own pictures
of dancing on golden stars and ambling through flower fields of bleeding hues.

Now when I look at them, I picture the tragedy of a man who loved the world in a way that was much too complex for us to understand.

Was there ever a time, Vincent, where you truly  felt whole?
Or were you always desperate to find peace?