I see myself in a garden, a heavenly garden, with the world’s most colorful flowers… It is so ecstatic it could blind your eyes. I am strolling around smelling each one. They are all unique with smells that are beautifully distinguished… and yet, I feel more and more empty as I smell each flower… Like an absence reinforcing itself with each aroma… until I end up in a place where the garden seemingly becomes flower-free. I dazzle at the clear vision of nothingness, a certain void that for some reason dizzies me. All I see is one flower weakly yet bravely surviving on the famished ground, but it looks as if it’s been there for years, decades, maybe even centuries… It is plain white, the white of dreams and complete happiness… I walk around it in chaotic rhythms, and as I stare at the field with no colors, flowers, or life, I find myself. I feel complete. I smell the white flower; it smells dark, intensely dark… devoid of sweetness. My body trembles. Some sort of magic is around me, I know it. I am drunk like a fiercely flowing river, full of life in a place where the only sign of life in sight is a flower that’s hardly being sustained by its own roots.

One wonders…Why would a soul feel empty in a field full of colors, yet completely whole in a field with nothing but a struggling white flower?

Dear… behind every vivid mask lies an empty soul, and behind every pale facade lies a soul full of colors.