Gemotions

"Another one," Amy mumbled, snatching the invitation from the mail pile. The glossy paper felt like sandpaper against her skin. She flipped through the rest of the mail, discarding bills and junk mail with a practiced flick of the wrist. The prospect of the reunion filled her with a sense of weariness, a kind of bone-deep fatigue.

She wandered into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. She stared at the ceiling, noticing dust motes dancing in the sunlight. This reunion. It felt like a monument to time she couldn't account for. The day stretched before her, an expanse of nothingness. She felt a profound emptiness, a yearning for something she couldn't name.

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the faces, the conversations. It felt like an impossible task.