Gemotions

Her palms were slick with sweat as she read the sign taped to the door. "Chez Pierre: Closing." It felt like a betrayal. The place that served her a perfect piece of fruit tart and the most delicious cup of coffee. It was her haven.

She remembered the way the sunlight would hit the dust motes in the air, the gentle hum of conversations in French. Her heart beat erratically, like a trapped bird. Her breathing was uneven.

She felt a tremor in her hands. She had to go in, to sit at her usual table, to soak it all in one last time. To breathe in the atmosphere, knowing it wouldn't be there next week. She had to.