Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread seemed to lose its appeal. As I watched her, the waitress, looking a little bit like the girl I used to chase through fields of wildflowers, I felt a strange emptiness. I’d walked into the bakery, drawn by the scent, and saw her. I knew it was her, I knew the way her hair fell across her shoulder. "Emily?" I asked, a hopeful note in my voice. She looked up, her face a mask of polite indifference. "I’m sorry, sir," she had said, "but I don’t believe we’ve met."

My vision blurred. A tremor ran through me, starting in my toes and making its way up my body. I felt a sudden urge to flee, to disappear into the anonymity of the city streets.

I felt as though a piece of me had been ripped away, leaving a gaping wound in my soul. I stared at her, unable to speak, the words caught in my throat.