A Different Blue

by Amy Harmon

“There’s no sense in running from the past. We can’t throw it away or pretend it didn’t happen,

Just one man who meant the world to one little girl.

“None of us can help where we were scattered, Blue. But none of us has to remain where we were scattered. Why don’t you focus on where you’re going and less on where you come from?

we all feel like nobody. We all feel like we are on the outside, looking in. We all feel scattered. But I think it’s that self-awareness that actually makes us somebody.

You may not be a work of art, but you are definitely a piece of work.”

Funny how you can tell someone is rolling his eyes, even when it’s dark and you can barely see them.

“I can’t control what you see or how you interpret what you see any more than I can control what you think of me.”

And I had a thing for my young history teacher. No doubt about it.

I find it interesting, though, that the label used to discredit a strong, independent woman has only changed by a mere letter.”

for most of us, who we are is made up of the little choices, the little acts, the little moments that comprise our lives, day after day. And if you look at it that way, labels are pretty inaccurate. We would all have to wear a thousand labels with a thousand different descriptions to honestly depict ourselves.”

our beliefs affect our lives in very real ways. They affect our story.

How would you label yourself if the labels weren’t based on what you thought of yourself but what you wanted for yourself?”

Redemption hadn’t saved me from consequence.

Sometimes the things we want to be rescued from can save us.”

“Some moments you don’t get back, Blue. You don’t want to spend a lifetime wondering about those moments you didn’t seize, about the things you should have done but were too scared to do.”

It rarely comes to me before. The inspiration comes through action.”

It happened like that—beauty would emerge almost by accident and I had to let it take me where it wanted me to go. So often, I felt like my hands and heart knew something I did not, and I surrendered the art to them.

Then I folded up Wilson’s letter and my story and tucked them into a copy of Dante’s Inferno that I knew I would never read but that would forever make me think of harpies and history, heartache and holding on.

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.

When the sun went down in Vegas, the heat wasn’t just bearable, it was beautiful. I even liked the way it smelled, like the sun had stripped away all the grime and the desert oasis had been washed in fire.

You’re wrong about one thing, though. Girls like me notice guys like you. We just don’t think we deserve them.”

It was harder to see how a boy like that, so inspired by a saint, could be attracted to a sinner like me.

“He told me not to worry. He said, ‘Women cry. If she’s crying over you, she still loves you.’” Wilson tried to mimic the shaky voice of the old man. He looked at me and grinned playfully. “He said I should only worry when you stop.”

I didn’t mind giving up Times Square for Big Ben.

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

“It’s delegation, luv. It’s ensuring it gets done without tying yourself up in knots.”

Someday . . . hopefully bloody soon—because I will combust if I ever have to spend a night like that again—you will want me because you love me, not because you’re lost, not because you’re desperate, not because you’re afraid. And that’s the goal.”