Gemotions

She sat on the porch swing, the unsigned card clutched in her hand. The paper felt strangely warm against her skin, the blankness of the inside drawing her in. Her breath hitched, a familiar tightness in her chest.

She closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic creak of the swing lull her. The scent of honeysuckle, heavy in the air, did little to soothe the growing ache. She thought of her mother, long gone, and the elaborate parties she’d throw every year.

She opened her eyes and saw her reflection in the glass of the front door. A stranger stared back. A life lived, it seemed, without purpose. She began to cry, silent tears tracing the lines etched on her face.