-Present Day-
I had a dream.
I was watching a video of him on my phone. The video focused on him, and the people around him were talking about him and his photos. The attire of the people and the luxurious environment showed he was living an affluent life. Watching the video, I thought about how much I missed him. Even though it saddened me to see him like this, my heart fluttered in a strange way.
I couldn't hide the smile on my lips while watching him. I tried to blink away the tears that were starting to fill my eyes. Even though it was just a dream... Even though I knew I was dreaming... I was happy to be in such a sweet fantasy. I didn't want to wake up from this dream for a long time. No matter how far apart we were, I could still see him. Even if he wasn't aware of me, I was still extremely happy.
My heart ached.
Even though I had found him after all these years, why could I only watch from here? Why did it have to be this way, even though I had waited for him for so long? Why had life been so cruel to me? Life had given me him, let me experience beautiful days, and then played games to take him away. I would wander around him for a long time, trying to find meaning in my otherwise meaningless life. I would grow up learning what it meant to live through his radiant smile.
Even though it was just a dream... Knowing this, my heart twisted in pain. My heart was being wrecked by his beauty.
As the video progressed, a girl slowly placed her hand on the Photographer's hand. Even though it was a dream... She could be by his side instead of me. She could reach for those hands I had once hesitantly reached for years ago. Maybe if I had been a bit braver back then... If I had fought to win him over, could I be the one holding his hand now?
Watching that moment filled me with both jealousy and a longing for a chance that wasn't mine. I rewound the video and watched his hands, which had seemed so unique to me from the first moment I saw them. The girl placed her hand on his again. For a moment, I wanted to be in her place. I wanted to be the one holding his hand. Even though it was just a dream, I wanted to feel him in some way.
Then, as if something happened, I suddenly found myself there. After all, it was a dream. And I guess I had unintentionally shaped this dream.
The Photographer looked at the girl with a strange smile. Even though I could only see her from behind, I felt she was much prettier than me. I never thought I was someone who could be next to such a beautiful person. But at the same time, I didn't want him to belong to anyone else but me. With all his sweet gestures and gentle looks, I wanted him to be mine.
But that was the last thing I could wish for. Even if this was a dream, I was far from him now.
Watching the girl's hand, I wanted to reach out to him. My hand lifted into the air for a moment, but I pulled it back. The Photographer calmly freed his hand from hers. As he lifted his head and looked into my eyes, my heart trembled. It felt like this moment wasn't a dream, but that I could reach out and hold him if I tried. He smiled as he extended his hand to me. His cheeks puffed up as he watched me. As I reached out my hand, he grasped my fingers as if drawing strength from them, placed my hand in his large palm, and began to lead me through the crowd around us.
My palm filled with a great warmth. Even though it was a dream, it felt like I had finally reached the warmth I had been longing for. It was what I had been searching for all these years...
We first ran through the place where his photos were being exhibited, then somehow found ourselves in the middle of nature. He turned to look at me and smiled. I wanted to reach out and cup his cheeks in my hands. Even though we were in a magical field of flowers, I wanted to show him that the real magic was him.
In his free hand, he still held his camera. Recording every moment we spent together, his voice reached my ears again. 'I capture emotions.' The voice, which I had forgotten in the dark corners of my mind, caught me. It was deep and warm. Even though he was taller and more built than me, his voice was more delicate than mine. It was a voice that, once captured, you never wanted to let go of.
'I capture all these moments with their special colors in black and white frames,'
I smiled again as he spoke. While he painted what he saw in black and white, I was only regaining my colors in the moments I was with him. I was learning the meaning of all the colors I saw only when I was with him. I could feel the heartbeat that was far from me in the palms of my hands. This feeling made me want to cry. At that moment, I felt he was my destiny. Even if it was a dream, I had found the destiny I had been searching for.
We crossed a path and then came upon a field painted red with poppies. We started climbing a hill from which we could see the whole city. At the top of the hill, a tree was waiting for us. Its branches swayed with the breeze, offering us the scent of spring. I couldn't wait to rest under the tree with him.
He reached the tree before me and started wandering around it. His gaze was on the branches and the sky. I hurried to join him, afraid that if I let go of his hand, I would lose him. I didn't want to feel the pain of losing him again when I had just found him. Even if it was a dream, I wanted to be his. I followed the heartbeat I had felt in my palm earlier. It gave me more hope. I ran around to the other side of the tree. As I prepared to meet him, I was instead met with emptiness. I called out to him, but he wasn't there. Even though I looked around, he was like a bird that had flown away from me.
The heartbeat I felt in my palm stopped. The touch that made me feel alive was gone. The face that smiled at me, the face I clung to with hope, was gone. And I... Even though it was a dream, I was completely alone here again.
I had lost him again and was alone in my incomplete universe without him.
When I opened my eyes, I stayed still for a while. I listened to the frantic beating of my heart under the hands I had placed on my chest. The heartbeat I felt throughout the dream was a result of my longing for him. And even though I knew it was a dream, I had tried to make myself happy in my fantasy world. I closed my eyes again. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to be reunited with him. Even if it was a dream, I wanted to be with him.
Tears had already started dripping onto my pillow. I prayed for him to be my destiny. I turned in bed to face the wall. This dream was like a script written just for him. It was a sweet yet painful game my mind was playing on me.
I curled up in bed, pulling my knees to my chest and pressing my clenched fists to my chest. I was once again being dragged into the emptiness of the years without him. No matter how many tears I shed, no matter how much it hurt, I didn't want to let go of him.
I had only known him for a month. That "Oh, are you okay?" was like the start of a magical fairy tale. The things I experienced during that month were more valuable and significant than everything I had experienced up to that point. From the first moment I met him, I thought he had a strange personality, but as time went on, I found myself more and more curious about him. Even after all these years, I was still curious about him. Like a baby trying to get used to the world, I was learning about him and wanted to know so much more.
Were the photos he kept in his mind really hidden in black and white frames? What emotions did he nostalgically remember in those moments he captured? Even though the places his hands touched would bloom, he wanted to keep everything in black and white. The frames with emotions unique to us. Could I ever be in those frames one day?
My crying had stopped. The lump in my throat seemed to have settled back into place, staying still. The sounds of early morning traffic and people on the streets filled my room. The framed photo on my left wall was of his gentle-featured face. As time passed, I was beginning to forget his face, but whenever I closed and opened my eyes, I remembered the state of being filled with different emotions towards him over six years. He had worn a blue shirt. There was a white t-shirt underneath, and his shirt was open. The camera he held was brown. I remembered the scent that the wind carried to me from him. His scent, soft and reminiscent of nature, brought his face into the light.
His wheat-colored, smooth skin. His cheeks that puffed up when he smiled. His light brown eyes. I remember a mole under one of his eyes. There was a chickenpox scar on his cheek that I couldn't call a flaw. His nose was proportional to his face, and his lips were sharply defined. His hair was long and dark brown. That face, which I never wanted to disappear from the center of my mind, was driving me crazy. Sometimes I even wanted to cry, thinking about how beautiful he was.
It had only been a few minutes since I woke up when the alarm I had set to wake me up went off. I stared at the alarm for a while, listening to the melody. Today, I felt lonelier in the pit of loneliness I was in.
This feeling had not left me for six years.
I took the first step in my monotonous life by getting out of bed. I went to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast. I wasn't hungry, but I needed to eat something. I quickly cracked an egg and made a tea bag brew. The warmth of the tea relaxed me as I sat down at the table. I picked up my phone and started looking through upcoming exhibitions. I checked out the photography exhibitions in my area and city one by one. When I saw that a photography exhibition was opening in two weeks, my heart pounded with excitement. And this exhibition would be held in my city. I couldn't control my thoughts. I found myself filled with daydreams as I headed to work.
Even after all these years, I couldn't give up the hope of finding him. A part of me still clung to him tightly. The man I had been attached to for six years was now being mocked by my friends, especially since I had turned 27. I had remained single all these years, unable to replace the man I had placed in the center of my heart. I searched for him in every man I met. He was a kingdom unto himself, yet there was not even a hint of him in anyone. And that made me fall even more in love with him. It felt like there was no one else on earth but him. His gentle, delicate, and pure voice... His beautiful, untainted heart... His soul that caressed one's heart...
As I walked down the street, I allowed thoughts of him to flood my mind, aided by the sad music playing through my headphones. Remembering my sorrowful story, as sad as this song, made me want to cry. How would this story that brought me happiness end? What would happen to us? Every day when I woke up, I felt more emotions about him. I was curious about what would happen and still wanted him to be mine.
Sometimes I couldn't help but wonder why he had put me on such a difficult path. My inability to forget him, the feeling of being in a place filled with peace and beauty during that month we spent together. Before him and since then, I had never felt that way again.
He found me at a time when I wanted to stay away from everything and everyone, when I was so tired of life that my rosy dreams were starting to darken. When I no longer wanted to trust anyone easily, he held onto me. He taught me that instead of having to trust someone, I could suddenly start trusting. He showed me that not everyone I met had bad intentions. And with his unique character, different from everyone I knew, he made me feel less alone.
Despite all these feelings I had for him, at first, I only saw him as a friend. But as I got to know him, I realized he was more than just a friend. We were more than just friends. Even though we didn't know each other well, we understood each other better than those who knew us.
And this made me feel a sense of emptiness for a long time. No matter how much pain I endured, it was an emptiness I didn't want to escape. The weight I carried inside me every day gave me happiness. I wanted to send a bittersweet smile to all those times and remember them over and over again. That month I spent with him had put me in a paradox that I couldn't escape from my entire life. And the most important thing was that I never wanted this paradox to end.
In my entire life, I had only felt such emotions once. And the one who opened those doors was only him. He and I...
Finally, I stood in front of the cafe I had arrived at. I read the sign hanging just above the entrance. Starry Night... My love for Van Gogh, which started thanks to him, had inspired me to name the cafe. I put the key in the lock, opened the door, and headed to the back. First, I got rid of my coat and bag, tied my apron in front of me, and then started on the tasks that needed to be done. First, I turned on the kettle for the tea, not knowing how many people would drink it. While waiting for the water to boil, I started wiping down the tables. Before I could finish my task, I received new products and placed some of them on the shelves for display. I took the remaining products to the kitchen and stored them in the cupboard. I continued wiping down the tables, and by then, the tea was already steeping. Once I had completed all my tasks, I opened the shutters and let the daylight flood in.
I turned the sign on the door to indicate that we were open. Spring was just beginning. I had met him on a hot summer day. How many springs had passed since then? More than one autumn, more than one winter, more than one spring had come, but the hot summer day when he came to me had never come again.
My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of students who had been working with me for the past few months. Along with them, customers started filling the cafe, scattering my thoughts even more.
Throughout the day, as I filled empty cups, prepared and delivered orders, I realized that I had momentarily forgotten about him. I tried to forget my fatigue by drinking the tea I had made for myself. My eyes roamed the interior of my cafe. One section of my cafe was specially designed for Van Gogh. A portrait of him hung there. Next to it were small frames displaying his other paintings. Sunflowers, Irises, Bedroom in Arles, Wheatfield with Crows...
Whenever I looked at Wheatfield with Crows, I couldn't help but wonder. Was this field a depiction of the field where he had shot himself? Had he imagined it before pulling the trigger? And did the crows fly like this in his imagination at the sound of the gunshot?
Even though I had known and loved Van Gogh before, it was the Photographer who had brought such thoughts to my mind. Thanks to his admiration for Van Gogh, I had learned about Van Gogh's sorrowful story. This man, who had not been valued during his lifetime, now had his drawings filling the walls of my cafe.
I turned my gaze to the other side of my cafe. In that corner were photographs I had taken at historic places related to photography. And the first one I had was a picture of a dancing woman. It seemed as if she was dancing around the light. It made me feel more than any other picture. But the other frames lacked something. Even though there were a few black and white ones, I couldn't see the emotions that I was supposed to understand. Those frames lacked the feelings that had been shown to me years ago.
Before meeting him, every photo and painting I saw felt empty, but now I knew that there was a story hidden behind each frame. Yet, no matter how much I looked, I couldn't understand or predict those stories.
With the sun already set and the crowd thinner than during the daytime, I sat down at a table with a cup of soothing herbal tea. Rubbing my aching legs, I listened to my favorite piece of relaxing music playing softly. My body, relaxing with each sip of tea, was signaling that he was coming back to me. And it took me back to the first days I met him.
