A Different Blue

by Amy Harmon

And the exposure would be priceless. I had to keep pinching myself through the conversation, but when it was over, I was convinced that, in the struggle to become a different Blue, my fortunes were changing too.

Regret is just life’s aftertaste. No matter what you choose, you’re gonna wonder if you shoulda done things different. I didn’t necessarily choose wrong. I just chose. And I lived with my choice, aftertaste and all. I like to think I gave my boy the best life I could, even if I wasn’t perfect.”

“Loving someone means putting their needs above your own. No matter what. Somehow, you figured that out. I’ll be damned if I know how, but you did. So, no. I don’t think you’re making a mistake, Blue. I think you’re bloody amazing. And when I get home, Jenny Woodrow is going to get a call. She deserves a little thank-you—finally—for loving me and letting me go.”

“He told me not to worry. He said, ‘Women cry. If she’s crying over you, she still loves you.’”

“Ah, there’s a story here, I can

tell.”

“Someone told me once that to create true art you must be willing to bleed and let others watch.”

The crack separated the top half of our bodies from the lower half. Luckily, the picture wasn’t damaged. We were still whole beneath the jagged scar. I stopped, considering. I was scarred, but I was not broken. Beneath my wounds I was still whole. Beneath my insecurities, beneath my pain, beneath my struggle, beneath it all, I was still whole.