Gemotions

The old, leather-bound diary lay open on the kitchen table. My uncle was explaining, his voice flat and unemotional, that it was time to sell my grandmother's personal writings. Her secrets, her feelings, her life, bound and preserved in ink, were to be sold to some stranger.

A vise gripped my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I stared at the elegant script, a lifetime of memories spilling onto the page. My hands began to tremble. I felt the heat rising in my face. The world narrowed to that single page, the words dancing and blurring before my eyes.

I could only sit there, completely still, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. The thought of strangers reading her most intimate thoughts filled me with a deep, crushing sorrow.