Gemotions

The shovel scraped against something solid. Another rock, she thought, sighing. Years of this – the digging, the planting, the futile hope that something, anything, would actually flourish in this wasteland of a garden. Her knuckles ached, a familiar throb that echoed the ache in her heart. She’d promised herself a beautiful life, a vibrant existence. Now, she was just an old woman and her rose bushes.

She unearthed a metal box, caked in mud. Its paint was peeling, and a small lock, rusted. She didn’t recognize it. A time capsule? The irony was almost comical. All that effort to seal a moment away, and then… forget it.

The lock surrendered with a groan. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper clippings, was a photograph. A younger version of herself, smiling, holding a puppy, and the inscription on the back read, "To my future self, full of love and laughter." She slammed the lid shut. A sudden weight settled in her chest, heavy as the metal box itself.