LETTING GO
339 Words
Chapter 7
The gallery night lingered in Amara’s mind long after it ended. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the soft hum of Lagos outside her window. It wasn’t regret that kept her awake—it was something quieter, harder to name.
For years, she had imagined what it would be like to see David again. She had pictured fire, longing, maybe even the chance to rewrite their ending. But instead, what she found was gentleness. A reminder, not a revival.
In the morning, she walked to her studio. The light poured in through the tall windows, dancing across half-finished canvases. She picked up a brush and began to paint—not the skyline, not the sea, not even the memory of him. This time she painted herself. A figure standing at dawn, not looking outward but forward, toward a horizon that was hers alone.
Her hand trembled at first, but then the strokes grew steady. Bold. Free.
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Later that week, she visited the waterfront. The same place where they had said goodbye all those years ago. The waves lapped gently at the shore, the city skyline rising in the distance.
She sat on the bench where they once had sat together and closed her eyes. For a moment, she let herself feel it all: the laughter, the fire, the heartbreak, the kiss that had lingered like sunlight long after he was gone.
And then—she released it.
Not in anger. Not in sorrow. But in gratitude.
Because some loves are not meant to last forever. Some exist only to show us who we are, to remind us that we are capable of burning, of feeling, of living.
Amara smiled faintly as the sun climbed higher, painting the sky in gold. She whispered into the breeze, a farewell that carried no bitterness:
“Thank you.”
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That night, she slept without dreams. And for the first time in a long time, when she woke to the sunrise, it felt like hers alone.
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The End
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