I originally posted this on tumblr, under the username I think, thoughtfully-optimistic-sheep, but I can't remember and that account has been closed so, I cannot find the post. Anyway, so if you see it and it was posted by that account, I haven't stolen it I promise.
Vincent Van Gogh believed that yellow was the colour of happiness.
And because of this belief he used to eat the yellow paint.
Because he thought that coating the inside of his organs in the colour of happiness, would make him happy.
Of course eating paint couldn't possible have a correlation to one's happiness and everyone used to think him mad and stupid for thinking such things.
But I don't see that.
If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possible work, like painting your internal organs yellow, then you would do it.
To me there is no difference than turning up the music so loud your ear drums would burst, from falling in love or taking drugs.
Of course the risks are dangerous, you could go deaf, overdose or get your heartbroken, but I would still do it.
Even if it meant I would finally lay in a coffin.
Because I still hold on to the hope that one day, it will make things better, it will finally make me feel what happiness is.
Everyone has that yellow paint.
