Gemotions

He stared at the glossy page. There it was, his painstakingly crafted essay, “The Weight of Water,” printed in a prestigious college guide. He remembered the night he'd written it – the relentless downpour outside, the rhythmic drumming against the roof mirroring the ache in his chest. He'd poured his sorrow into those words, talking about the way his sister's absence felt like a constant, heavy rain.

His stomach clenched. He felt a familiar hollowness, a desert inside him, that no amount of food or distraction could ever fill. He’d carefully chosen each word, a shield against the world’s prying eyes. Now, anyone could read about how his sister had died.

He crumpled the magazine in his hands, then immediately smoothed it out, smoothing it until the wrinkles disappeared. He knew he'd need to reread it again, to make sure it was still there, like checking a wound. He felt the phantom pain in his side as if he had been punched.