Gemotions

It was the fifth anniversary of his parents' death, and he'd stumbled across his childhood friend, Maria, at the graveyard. He’d recognized her immediately, that familiar cascade of black hair, the quiet intensity in her eyes. He’d walked toward her, a genuine smile on his face, only to be met with blankness.

“I don’t recall knowing you,” she'd said. “I’m sorry.”

John's throat tightened. The solemnity of the graveyard seemed to amplify the sense of loss, not just for his parents, but for the shared past now erased. The wind whipped around him, carrying the scent of damp earth and dead leaves, a constant reminder of the passage of time. He felt the familiar weight of grief, compounded by this fresh wound. He couldn’t speak, couldn't breathe. He turned and stumbled away, his vision blurred with unshed tears.