Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the coffee shop, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She hunched over her latte, the warmth doing little to penetrate the icy shell that had formed around her. The barista’s cheerful chatter felt like a cruel joke. She’d always considered herself a writer, pouring her heart into words, yet now the most intimate details of her past, her vulnerabilities, were dissected and admired by strangers, the essay that once felt like a secret confession now public domain. She stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic, a sharp, unwelcome sound in the near-silence.

The bookstore across the street beckoned. Maybe the familiar scent of old paper and ink could provide some solace. Her reflection in the wet glass showed a face etched with a weariness she couldn't account for. The published example, the essay she’d crafted about her grandmother, the heart of her life, had been reduced to a lesson in proper syntax. It wasn't the rejection from the college that stung, it was the erasure of the spirit of the words.