Gemotions

The old trunk in the basement held a lifetime of memories. Emily opened it gingerly, the hinges creaking in protest. Within was a treasure trove of her childhood. The box felt unbearably heavy. It was a physical manifestation of everything she’d lost.

She pulled out a handwritten letter she'd written to her mother, complete with a misspelled word. The imperfections were a window into a past when her mother was the center of her world. The paper was folded and creased, bearing the marks of frequent handling.

She traced the familiar script, tears spilling onto the page. Each paper, each drawing, was a vivid reminder of her mother’s love. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rewind time, to have one more hug. She felt as though she’d been cast adrift on a stormy sea.