Gemotions

The scent of gardenias filled the small flat. They were exquisite, the creamy white petals a stark contrast to the dark wood of the table. She ran her fingers along the velvety petals, her lip trembling. This was a continuation of a pattern, a repeated dance of… unspoken things.

She went through the motions of putting the flowers in water, tidying the tiny flat. But with each action, her frustration grew. She slumped onto the couch, staring at the gardenias, a slow burn starting behind her eyes.