She spent the last few waking moments she had the night before, doodling with her sketch pad. She's not much of an artist. And she's not claiming to be one. But last night she just doesn't care. As usual. It was just her, her pad and her thoughts. Nothing else.

It wasn't the first time she made rough sketches wih him in mind. It was not something new to her. It was just one of those nights, moments, when she felt too tired of questioning what she feels and what she ought to do about it. Everybody gets tired right? Everybody has the right to be weak once in awhile. She was just too tired of being strong. So damn tired.

But it was different that night. She wasn't drawing his hand. Or face. Or shoulders. She was creating an image of his back. Of him walking away. Of him saying goodbye. Of her letting go of him. Letting go of someone that was never hers.

It was supposed to be a rough sketch. Full of hard edges and unsmooth angles. But with her neophyte hands she'd somehow created a gentle connection between the edges, a smooth flow of image, a tender picture of a friend.

With every line she draw she was saying goodbye. With every curve she was saying goodbye.
With the picture she had created she was letting go.

She stared at the image she'd made. She smiled. A painful one. Yes, it's time to let go.

She wants to draw other pictures... not just of goodbye's but of hello's. Not just of letting go, but of holding on. Not just images of her fantasies but real pictures.

She opened another page in her sketch pad. Stared at it, as if by staring, millions of images would come out from it. She smiled. A hopeful one.

She'l come back again to that new page tomorrow. Tonight is for letting go.

Tomorrow, she's gonna to be painting new dreams. Tomorrow she's gonna be drawing new pictures.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow.