Gemotions

The attic was a mausoleum of dust and forgotten dreams. Sarah, clutching a tissue, navigated the treacherous terrain of forgotten furniture and moth-eaten fabrics. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating the swirling particles of time. She'd found it tucked away in a corner, beneath a pile of old love letters and a chipped teacup. A metal box, labeled simply "2008." She remembered nothing about it.

Inside were her own journal entries, scrawled with youthful exuberance. The words, filled with plans for the future, felt alien. A pressed flower, brittle and brown, fell from the pages. She remembered the day she picked it, the day she first kissed Liam. His name, etched in the margins, stared back at her. The ache in her chest intensified with each line.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She slammed the lid shut, her hand hovering over the dirt. She knew, somehow, that reopening it would only expose the raw wound even further.