Gemotions

The old tire swing still hung from a low branch of the neighboring birch, swaying gently in the breeze. But the willow, the magnificent willow where Sarah had spent countless childhood afternoons, was gone. Just a smooth patch of earth. Her breath hitched.

She stood frozen, her eyes wide. The sunlight, which she remembered streaming through the willow’s weeping branches, felt harsh and unforgiving. Her heart pounded a rapid rhythm against her ribs.

"No," she mumbled, the word barely audible. The simple word felt inadequate, a tiny vessel trying to contain an ocean of emotion. It was like a part of her was missing.