Gemotions

I stood in the doorway, watching my son, Daniel, happily settle into his seat. The teacher, Miss Davis, glanced up and smiled. My breath hitched. It was the same Miss Davis who had taught me English in high school. The classroom's familiar layout created a vortex of memories.

I remembered the way she'd encouraged my writing, the way she'd pushed me to think critically. The past rose up, vivid and potent.

Later, I found myself lingering near the school library, remembering hours spent there, lost in books. It felt as if a part of me had been waiting here. It was a strange, powerful sensation, a feeling of connection that transcended time and space. I was flooded with feelings.