The Unfinished Painting

Dear Delyara, I uncovered the canvas in the spare room today. It’s been sitting under a dusty sheet for three years—a half-finished landscape of a place I’ve never been but used to dream about every night. I touched the dried paint, and it felt like touching a version of myself that doesn't exist anymore. I remember the person who started this painting; she believed she had something to say. Now, I just look at the empty space where the mountains were supposed to be and wonder where that girl went. I didn't pick up the brush. I just put the sheet back over it and walked out, but the smell of linseed oil followed me all the way to the kitchen.