Gemotions

The old tree, its branches gnarled and familiar, stood sentinel in the park. She leaned against its rough bark, the rough surface scratching her back. He'd walked past her without a glance, engrossed in a conversation. He had no clue.

She remembered them carving their initials into that very tree when they were young, giggling as they ran away. Now, his face was a stranger’s. The memories, once so vibrant, felt distant, like a dream.

The sun was setting, casting long, eerie shadows. She ran her fingers over the carved initials, now barely visible beneath the scars of time. A gust of wind rustled through the leaves, whispering secrets she could no longer understand.