Gemotions

The world felt gray, a perpetual overcast that mirrored the hollowness inside. This morning, a new ache arrived in the form of a request. “Could I maybe…use a corner of your yard for a little garden?” The words, so innocent, struck a sour note. It was Mrs. Gable, beaming with unearned optimism.

My shoulders slumped. My stomach twisted. It felt like someone had just asked me to go to war. The thought of cultivating anything, of nurturing something green and alive, felt impossibly hard.

“I… I’ll need to think about it,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of any warmth. I turned away, eager to retreat back into the dim quiet of the house, away from the chirping birds and the demands of the living world.