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A trail of brown boxes line the sidewalk, leading to a moving truck with other memories piled inside.
Today, a family moves out of their small gray home, a sad shadow of the vibrant yellow one beside it. Bright as a lemon and absent of anything sour. Except for the Gray family, who were stoic, all carrying moving boxes in methodical procession and silence.
When they finished, they took one last look inside the house. Old corners adorned themselves in the finest webs vacated by the last owners. They inhaled the stale air, the familiar aroma of old memories and knick-knacks, things that were special to them on display for the entire family to gaze upon. All gone.
The vibe was off, yet potent, unseen, and detrimental to the soul. They had to get out.
Their last steps past the overgrown weeds is a memory of a challenge faced, accomplishments and failures, strange growth in the shadows of pain. The Grays didn’t tend to this garden; they were moving on.
After their solemn departure, the small gray house vanished, while the yellow stood alone, waiting.
Today, a family emerges from their vibrant yellow home. Inside, shelves are full, reflecting the Grays and their knick-knacks. Old and new memories merge. Outside, rows of flowers line the house, blooming in rediscovered bliss. It is what they nurtured with hope in the years of gray gloom.
Scattered across their front porch, the Grays sit in silence, smiling, watching the sunrise together of a new day, and a new chance.