A Single Stroke ✔️

Epilogue

"Maybe it's not always about trying to fix something broken. Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better."
~ anonymous

***

I followed the sidewalk where I once walked so many times before. Hands in my pockets, hair tousled up, chin high. I knew where I was going and no one was going to stop me.

Once I crossed the street, I stopped in front of an old dilapidated building.

From the outside, it looked the same: brick walls with windows on all sides. But once I stepped closer and peered in those windows, I saw everything was dark. Not a single light was on. No one worked there anymore. It was closed.

I heard it in the news last week. The Late Café lost business because it was so far out in a place not many people knew about. I felt like it was partly my fault; they rose to success once I started painting there. Once I gave up painting, their business went out.

I wondered where Teagan went. I wondered what happened to all my paintings. They never called to give them back. Then again, they did pay for them.

I walked to the back of the building and searched for something else.

Sure enough, it was still there.

My outline was fully gray, completely washed and worn down from rain, snow, and whatever else. The words "Everything is GRAY" were faded, but the outline was still visible.

My silhouette; the shadow of my past.

But I noticed something different.

As I stepped closer, I noticed red paint on the chest of the silhouette where the heart would be. The words formed a heart. They said: but you're still my Blue.

What the hell?

I recognized the handwriting. It was-

"Hey."

I turned quickly. And ho-ly shit.

Her hair was till that vibrant red-brown color, naturally wavy, but she cut it shoulder-length and now had bangs. Her onyx eyes...those eyes were still gemstones. They were wide and curious. Observant. But somehow brighter.

She was a little taller and wore a gray dress, a red flannel tied around her waist, and black boots. Her figure filled in a little, but she still had those curves. And then I noticed her wrists.

They were completely covered in tattoos. One was the exact replica of the purple flower I once painted on her wrist.

I backed against the wall and ran a hand through my hair. "Oh my God...Azaleah?"

She fixed the purse on her shoulder and smiled softly, but uncertainly. "Hey, Emery. It's been a while."

"No shit."

She bit her lip. Waited.

Hell, what did she expect me to say? The only thing that popped into my mind was the question that haunted me every night months before:

"Where the hell did you go?"

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She tilted her head. "I'm so, so sorry Emery."

"It doesn't matter anymore. That was...a long time ago."

She nodded. "Yeah. It was. How have you been?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Where do you want me to start? When you left..." What? Was I really going to bring up the past? Yeah. She had to know, but not for her sake. For mine. "When you left, my whole world fell apart. But not just because of you. You were the start..." I paused. "Brynn was the finish." But the words didn't mean anything anymore. I didn't feel anything when I said them. So I added, "None of this is even relevant anymore."