Gemotions

I walked into the guest room, a room I hadn't been in for years. The air was musty and still. Lined up in the corner, were boxes. Each was meticulously labeled: “Elementary School”, “Middle School”, “High School”. A wave of… perplexity washed over me. Mom kept everything.

I opened a box from my sophomore year. Inside were crumpled notes, half-finished projects, and tests with red marks. I held a poem I'd written, filled with the angst of a teenager. A strange, almost suffocating feeling settled over me.

I closed the box, a feeling of unease twisting in my gut. I didn't know how to process this. I wanted to understand, but I had no starting point.