Gemotions

The photograph was in her hand. The faded image of them, younger, happier, holding hands on a Ferris wheel, the sun setting in the background. “Remember this, Daniel?” she’d asked, her voice trembling slightly.

He’d taken the photo, studied it, then looked back at her with a blank expression. "Looks like me," he said, "but I don't remember any of this." He handed the photo back.

The color drained from her face. She felt a cold wave wash over her, a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. She could barely breathe. The weight of her past, the shared experiences, the unspoken bond, suddenly felt heavy and useless.

She forced a weak smile and attempted to say something light, but her mouth felt dry. The laughter from the other people in the room felt mocking.