We’ve lived in this house for eight years.
We’ve watched its carpets collect happy dirt.
We’ve watched its windows slowly adapt to each passing season.
We’ve remodeled; hosted parties; built a container garden on the deck.
We’ve relocated litter boxes; hung up photos of our families and bizarre expressionist paintings; we’ve scattered scented candles.
We’ve repurposed a guest room to a nursery, delightfully filling every nook and cranny with overpriced plastic.
We’ve made it our home, Dear Reader.
And yet, after all this time, there remains the unpainted wall.
Well, multiple walls, really.
Our bedroom is a shameful shade of green. Gun to the head, I’d call it Mellow-Yellow. It’s reminiscent of a baby celery leaf.
And it’s gross.
It was there when we moved in, and after all these years, we’ve never changed it.
Even though it’s ugly.
Even though it’s a color I would never pick for anything, not even underwear.
And maybe I’m telling you this because I’m reminded that nothing is ever really over.
Nothing is ever really complete.
We learn and we talk and we grow and we change.
We regret, we resist and we recover.
We open our eyes each day to another set of possibilities.
And as I retire to this room each night, my Mother-bones aching with joy, I smile at the unpainted wall.
. . .
SnapDragon is a writer, artist, and happy weirdo.
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