Gemotions

The aroma of cinnamon and stale coffee hung in the air as Maya explored the attic. The dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight, illuminating the boxes stacked high against the walls. Her mother, a meticulous woman, had kept everything.

She unearthed a box labeled “Maya’s Memories”. Within, she found a treasure trove of her childhood scribblings, carefully preserved. She ran a finger over the title of a poem she wrote about a lost kitten, a smile playing on her lips. A strange pressure began to build inside her.

She found her art projects, including one especially bold piece from art class. She blushed, a heat spreading through her chest. The paper felt rough against her skin, and she felt a sudden dryness in her mouth. She wanted to be touched, to feel something, anything.