Gemotions

The air in the attic was thick with the scent of decay. Sarah trudged up the stairs, each step a monument to the day she was having. She’d promised herself she would find her new favorite book, and a day in this quiet space would be perfect. She found instead a stack of old magazines, brittle and cracked.

She brushed a hand across her forehead, the heat from the exertion and the closeness of the space making her feel slightly sick. A worn, leather-bound diary lay beneath them.

The diary’s pages were filled with looping handwriting. The entries spoke of joy and sorrow, of loves lost and found, of a life lived within these very walls. Sarah felt a peculiar hollowness, a sense of disconnect from her own existence. She traced a finger over the last entry, dated years before, and the sadness seemed to cling to her.