Gemotions

"Excuse me," she muttered to the park's groundskeeper. "I seem to be having a bit of a… problem." She gestured toward the metal box she had just dug up. Her hands were covered in dirt. She had no recollection of placing it there.

The groundskeeper shrugged, but left her alone. Amelia pulled the lid off. The inside was filled with an old iPod, the model before smart phones existed, a small, worn notebook, and a single, dried rose. She felt a pressure in her chest, a weight that made it hard to breathe. Where had she been? What was this?

She opened the notebook. The first page contained a single sentence, written in her own cursive. *“Don’t forget.”* Amelia felt a wave of nausea. She flipped through the pages. The handwriting was her own, but the words were a jumble of random thoughts and phrases. She dropped the notebook, the sound deafening in the sudden stillness.