Gemotions

She found herself, almost against her will, wandering into the park. The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the trees in hues of orange and purple. A busker, huddled beneath a flickering streetlamp, strummed a familiar chord progression. It was the intro to "Crimson River." It was her song. Or, it *had* been.

A coldness crept through her, a hollowness that seemed to expand in her chest. She remembered composing the song in the tiny, cluttered apartment, the feeling of hope bubbling within her. Now, hearing it played by someone else felt like a phantom limb, a painful reminder of what she had lost. She pulled her scarf tighter, the fabric doing little to fend off the chill that had settled deep within her bones.