Gemotions

"I've found my path," my grandmother announced, her voice surprisingly strong. She was turning to Paganism. I felt a wave of cold rush through me. The small, cluttered living room, filled with the scent of old furniture, felt suffocating.

She began to describe the ceremonies and rituals, the connection to nature. I stared at the lace doilies on the table, finding solace in the intricate patterns.

Later, I walked through the park, kicking at the fallen leaves. The familiar trees felt alien. The world, once comforting, felt like a bewildering puzzle I could not solve.