Gemotions

The sunlight streaming into Clara’s childhood bedroom seemed suddenly too bright. She hunched over the overflowing box, the flimsy cardboard threatening to collapse under the weight of her past. Her mother’s meticulous organization, normally a source of comfort, now felt like a cage.

Clara traced the neat cursive on a faded English paper. She felt her chest tighten, and she had to take a few deep, deliberate breaths to calm herself down. Her eyes scanned the familiar words, her younger self's attempts at prose. She felt exposed and vulnerable.

She bit her lip, then abruptly slammed the lid shut. She felt the urge to run.