Gemotions

The photograph, faded and creased, felt brittle in her hand. It showed them both, children, beaming at the camera, faces smeared with cake. Now, decades later, the reunion had been a disaster. He hadn’t recognized her, hadn’t even registered a flicker of recollection.

Her hand trembled slightly, and the photograph threatened to slip from her grasp. She knew she should just discard it, get rid of all the relics of the past. The weight of what had been and what was not came crashing down.

The silence of her apartment felt thick and oppressive. She walked to her kitchen, her feet heavy. She looked at the counter, then at the photograph again. The corners felt razor sharp.