Gemotions

"This place… is still her," Maya thought, her voice barely a whisper. She ran her fingers across the dusty piano keys, a forgotten melody forming in her head. Sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, illuminating the motes of dust dancing in the air. The air was warm and heavy, saturated with the smell of old wood and lavender.

She felt the tension in her neck loosen, the ache in her shoulders dissipating with each passing moment. A chuckle escaped her as she spotted the collection of mismatched teacups on the shelf. She'd always loved how eccentric her grandmother was. She pictured her grandmother’s smile and her own shoulders relaxed a little more.

She decided to start with the garden. She pulled on some gardening gloves, a lightness spreading through her limbs. The weeds needed tending, but the roses were thriving, their petals vibrant in the afternoon light. It felt good to get her hands dirty.