Gemotions

I hadn't been back to the house in years. Now, with Mom gone, I was tasked with cleaning it out. The attic was a treasure trove of forgotten things. I found a trunk, its leather cracked and worn. Inside: a complete archive of my school life.

I felt a sting of sadness as I looked at the neatly organized folders. Each paper, a testament to my childhood. A feeling of being adrift settled over me. I turned a page and saw my first grade handwriting, my name printed in block letters.

A pressed flower, a pansy, was tucked inside one of the folders. I remembered picking it with Mom in her garden. The silence of the attic was deafening, amplified by the heavy ache in my chest. I felt a profound sense of separation, a chasm between me and the past.