Gemotions

The wind whipped around Amelia, tugging at her scarf as she stood across the street. The house, her childhood house, was an oblong box of a building now, stripped of all its glory and elegance. She found herself clutching her purse tightly, knuckles bone-white.

She remembered the way the sunlight would stream through the living room windows in the afternoons, painting the floorboards with golden stripes. The feel of the worn carpet under her bare feet, the scent of her mother's perfume lingering in the air.

A tear traced a path down her cheek. She was surprised by the intensity of the feeling, this aching in her chest. She had thought she was ready, but looking at the boarded-up windows, she felt utterly unprepared.