The One That Looked Like Leaving
She didn’t expect to stop.
But the swirl of blues and burnt saffron seemed to breathe. It reminded her of the heat that rose off docks at midday, of telegrams never answered, and the moment just after she’d decided not to go.
She stood still, hand tightening over the silk scarf at her throat—one she hadn’t worn in years but had brought, for reasons she couldn’t name. The painting was all motion and nothing fixed. No figures, no center.
“This one looks like leaving,” she whispered.
And yet—there was no sorrow in it. Only gravity, and a hint of wind.
It held her gaze until her breath slowed. Then she turned. Not away, but forward.
The One That Looked Like Her Mother’s Voice
She almost missed it. It hung in the narrow corridor, between loud, shouting works. But this one—this one whispered like a secret
The line was harsh. Deliberate. As though the artist had cut the canvas with a single stroke and then dared the world to explain it.
Julii blinked, and for a moment she was ten again, the air in the kitchen thick with bread and warning. Her mother’s voice—low and clipped—not angry, just tired. Not hurt, but hurting.
The painting said:
“I asked for nothing. But you heard everything.”
She stood straighter. That memory had teeth. But this time, it didn’t bite.
It bowed, like a curtain call. Then faded into stillness.
The One That Looked Like the Future
This one she couldn’t quite see—not all at once.
From a distance: an asymmetrical chaos. Lines intersected. Planes floated above one another like scaffolding in a dream.
But from the right angle…
Something clicked.
A path emerged. Not literal—just a sense of orientation. Like the map you trace by feel, not compass. Lavender faded into silver. What was confusion became design.
“Oh,” Julii said aloud. “So that’s what I’ve been building.”
She smiled—not because she understood it all.
But because she didn’t have to.
She only had to walk it.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc.
Travel in Life 
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