Gemotions

The photograph, faded and creased, felt suddenly heavy in Elias's hand. He'd held it so many times, remembering the warmth of the summer light and the carefree joy etched on both their faces. He’d gone to the reunion, all in hopes of seeing her. It had been years, but his heart had skipped.

When she'd walked up, he'd practically stumbled over himself trying to reintroduce himself. And the look in her eyes had been a flat, polite kind of confusion.

He tossed the photo onto the coffee table, the gesture a violent release. His chest felt constricted, as if a weight was pressing down on him, stealing his breath. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. He felt a deep, gnawing need to lash out, to hurt something, anything, for the injustice of it all.