Blue Sighs, or a Canvas Kept Only for You
My dear, you cannot imagine how long I have waited for this moment—to be alone with you, like this. The world outside seems dreadfully loud, doesn’t it? But here, in this room, we have found the quietest place on earth. It is a secret atelier, belonging only to me and to you. Won’t you lean back into that plush chair and allow yourself to listen to my wandering monologue? This is a letter of love, written just for you, crafted by whittling away my life and grinding my soul into a fine powder to mix with the ink. Tell me, are you a little tired today? Or perhaps, deep within your chest, do you harbor a loneliness that falls silently, like an endless, accumulating snow that you can show to no one?
“Happiness does not lie in happiness itself, but in the process of seeking it.”
— Leo Tolstoy
Why is it that human beings are so easily disarrayed by beauty? Why do we find the reflection of someone else’s sorrow within the depths of our own eyes in the mirror? Today, I want to tell you the story of a man named Rossetti. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. He was one of the Pre-Raphaelites—those frantic devotees of passion who tried to drag the lingering remnants of a dream into the harsh light of reality. This story is meant to be a single, solitary spell to rescue you from your solitude.
A Lingering Face in the Amber Twilight
Rossetti. Just hearing that name brings a dizzying, saccharine ache to my heart. He utterly rejected the tedious order of “perfected beauty” established by the Great Masters of the Renaissance. He sought something fresher, rawer—a beauty that could touch the very beating of your heart. When his wife, Elizabeth Siddal, passed away, he buried his own book of poems within her coffin. He was so consumed by the grief of losing his beloved that he entrusted a piece of his soul to the earth forever.
“To be loved is to be consumed in flames. To love is to shine with inexhaustible oil.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke
Do you ever feel as though you’ve left something vital behind? Why must we be haunted by the fear of loss the very moment we grasp something precious? Years later, Rossetti exhumed that coffin to reclaim his poems. Some might laugh and call it sacrilege. But I believe it was the desperate struggle of a human “life”—a clumsy, honest devotion to himself, to the world, and to someone like you. He rescued words from the brink of death and flung them back onto the canvas.
The Pomegranate Seed is the Crimson of Your Lips
Look at them—the women he painted. Look at those melancholy expressions. The soft curve of the neck, the heavy eyelids, and those trembling lips that seem to be enduring something, or perhaps, yearning for something. Have you seen his Proserpine? The goddess who was abducted by the King of the Underworld and, because she tasted a single pomegranate seed, could never fully return to the world above. Her eyes are gazing directly at you even now. Those eyes say, “Take me away from here.”
“Beauty awakens the soul to act.”
— Dante Alighieri
Why, against such a dark background, is her skin so translucent and white? It is because Rossetti knew that the deeper the darkness of despair, the more fiercely the “light” within you begins to shine. Your sadness is never meaningless. It is proof that you know a love of equal depth. If your fingertips tremble even slightly as you read these words, it is because your soul is resonating with the frantic colors of Rossetti’s world. I wish, more than anything, to gently embrace that trembling.
Knights of the Night in Search of the Holy Grail
The Pre-Raphaelite painters yearned for the tales of medieval chivalry. The Arthurian legends, the quest for the Holy Grail… for them, painting was the journey itself—a search for the lost, sacred things. In this modern world, so inorganic, cold, and crowded with dancing numbers, do you ever feel you are losing your way? Why have we been robbed of the “useless beauty” that nourishes the heart, only to be forced toward efficiency and correct answers?
“Imagination is more important than knowledge.”
— Albert Einstein
Rossetti and his circle did not fear the world’s ridicule in the slightest when it came to the beauty they believed in. They poured their lives into every lock of a model’s hair, into every single stitch of a gown’s embroidery. It was a nobility akin to a knight’s vow—a vow to protect a precious existence like yours from the stains of this world. I am now following Rossetti’s lead, pouring a prayer for you into this sea of words. I pray that tomorrow, when you look in the mirror, you might think, even for a fleeting second, “What a beautiful being I am.”
The Truth Beyond the Azure Veil
Let me tell you the truth. I find the sight of your sorrow unbearably lovely. No, please do not misunderstand me. It is because your sorrow shines with a nobility and purity greater than any gemstone. It is like Rossetti’s Beata Beatrix, hovering in that supreme moment between ecstasy and the brink of death. A human being is never more beautiful than when they are in despair, yet still reaching out for something with a defenseless back.
“Man has the freedom to govern his own destiny, but he must have the courage to love that destiny.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche
Why does God grant us such trials? Why must a person as kind as you spend the night alone? It is because you are a chosen one. Just as Rossetti dared to break the traditional standards of beauty to follow his inner passion, you too have the right to follow your inner voice. You belong to no one. You are a unique work of art. I want to be the one who understands that work best. I want to sit quietly beside your loneliness and gaze at the silver moonlight until morning comes.
The Pre-Raphaelite Dream, and Your Dawn
The Pre-Raphaelite movement eventually faded into the waves of time. Yet, the colors they left behind remain scorched onto our retinas. Think of John Everett Millais’s Ophelia, floating on the water. The flowers surrounding her were painted with obsessive realism based on actual blooms. To be more real than reality itself—your heartache is the same. I will let no one tell you it is “just your imagination.” The loneliness you feel is a truth more certain than any law of the universe.
“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Why am I so unable to stop talking to you? It is because this text is my final and greatest “service” to you. I want to burn my life like a candle so that its light might illuminate your feet, if only a little. You are never alone. You exist within Rossetti’s paintings, within the flowers Millais painted, and certainly within this clumsy arrangement of my words. When you finish reading this, I am sure your breathing will feel just a bit easier than before.
Offering You an Eternal Siesta
Now, our secret time must draw to a close. But please, do not be sad. The words I have woven will plant seeds in the depths of your memory, and one day, they will bloom into magnificent flowers. Like the red-haired women Rossetti loved, please bloom with pride, nobility, and beauty. Whenever you feel like crying, read this again and again. I am here. I am here to drink up all your loneliness and turn it into sweet nectar.
“Love is stronger than death and the fear of death.”
— Ivan Turgenev
Why is love so cruel, yet so warm? It is because we are “alive.” It is because we possess these bodies where blood flows, hearts pulse, and we find ourselves wanting to call out someone’s name. Rossetti captured the heat of the flesh in paint that never cools. I want to tether the heat of your heart forever with these words. To you, my dear, only you. May this desperate service of my life be the salvation of your soul.
Watching the window
The silhouette of your back
Bears a faint red scar
Where wings once used to grow
Sinking to the floor
Of a deep and golden dusk
This pomegranate
Bitten, tastes of secret things
Hidden long within the heart
“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”
— The Bible (New Testament, Matthew 7:7)
“The quality of one’s happiness is proportional to the amount of suffering they hold. True joy never visits those who know no pain.”
— Osamu Dazai
“My loneliness began on that summer day when I left my straw hat in front of a girl who had never seen the sea.”
— Shuji Terayama