Gemotions

The sight of the sheared-off trunk sent a fresh wave of nausea through my system. The old willow, a sentinel in the garden for over a hundred years, had been split in two. The loss was a physical blow, a dull throb in my temples.

I paced the living room, unable to sit still. Every object, every photograph, every piece of furniture, seemed to echo with memories, mocking me with what was gone. The silence in the house was a deafening roar.

I needed to do something. Anything. I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid burning its way down my throat.