Gemotions

The bustling marketplace was a riot of colors and smells, a stark contrast to the sterile quiet of the hospital room where he'd spent the last few years. He searched through the crowds, his gaze scanning the faces. He found her, older now, her hair streaked with gray. He approached her, feeling a knot of pure, unadulterated aggravation in his throat.

"Hello, Mary?" he ventured, his voice rough from disuse. He was prepared for this. He'd rehearsed it endlessly.

She looked at him, her eyes clouded with age and a trace of something unfamiliar. "Yes?" Her voice held a note of impatience.

"It's… John. John Peterson." He felt ridiculous. He felt used. He was exhausted. "From the old neighborhood?"

She looked away, as if searching for a forgotten memory. "I'm so sorry, I don't recall." The words were like a physical blow. He stood there, watching her continue her shopping, his chest feeling hollow.