Gemotions

The morning sun streamed across the living room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Sarah sipped her coffee, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the beverage. A small, leather-bound notebook lay open on the coffee table, a familiar script filling its pages. It was Mark's handwriting, the loops and flourishes she knew so well. She’d always known he was a writer, but hadn’t realized his subject matter was, well, *her*.

A gentle smile played on her lips as she read, captivated by his words. He saw her, she thought, truly *saw* her, and loved her even in the mundane. The way he described the curve of her smile, the way she hummed when she cooked, the way she handled her anxieties with humor. It was all there.

She walked over to the kitchen window and gazed at the blossoming cherry tree outside, its pink petals like confetti in the breeze. She felt a lightness, a buoyancy she rarely experienced. This feeling was quite wonderful.