Gemotions

The house seemed to shrink around Elara as she surveyed the neat stacks. Her mother's archive. Every single piece of homework, every hastily scribbled note, every painstakingly crafted project, organized by year, by subject. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to *see* this.

She should have just left it. Instead, she had the compulsion to look. To know. Now she had it. She sat cross-legged on the floor. Her fingers traced the title of a poem she wrote in tenth grade, and then she began to fold it into a paper airplane, sending it sailing across the room. She kept doing it, again and again.