Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in her mouth. She swirled it around, the ceramic warm against her trembling fingers. Across the kitchen table, her laptop glowed, illuminating the digital version of her awkward youth. "Dear Diary," the top line of the first entry blazed on the screen. It was all there, the crushes, the insecurities, the embarrassing poems. A cold dread seeped into her bones.

She hadn't thought about that notebook in decades. Now, scrolling through the entries, a strange mixture of mortification and something akin to fondness settled over her. She cringed at her adolescent self, but also felt a pang of protectiveness. The girl on the screen was so earnest, so raw. She wondered if she'd been that open and vulnerable as an adult.

Her gaze drifted to the window, rain streaking the glass. The garden, usually vibrant, looked muted and sad. The world felt far away. A low moan escaped her lips as she closed the laptop, the screen going dark, and with it, the truth of her past.