Gemotions

The familiar scent of lavender from the garden, usually calming, now seemed to twist in her gut. She watched as her partner, Rowan, spoke to the gardener in Gaelic, a language she had always considered too difficult, too “out there.”

She felt an internal tremor, a shiver despite the warm sunshine. She had always kept that part of herself, that part of her roots, hidden, buried. But she could have, she *should* have, embraced it with Rowan.

She walked towards the garden, picking at the petals of a lavender bush. The air felt thick, the scent overwhelmingly, almost punishingly, sweet.