Gemotions

The hum of the air conditioner, a constant drone, did little to alleviate the oppressive heat of the day. Maya sat on her porch swing, the rhythmic motion doing nothing to soothe the lethargy that had settled over her. A book, addressed to her, lay on the small table beside her. It was heavy, a physical manifestation of someone's attempt to capture her life.

She picked it up, then immediately put it back down. The effort of opening it, of engaging with its contents… It was too much. The thought of it made her tired. She leaned back, letting the swing carry her. The afternoon stretched ahead, a vast expanse of unoccupied time. Perhaps, she thought, she would just stay here.