Gemotions

The photograph, faded and creased, lay on the worn wooden table. Two children, laughing, faces smeared with chocolate, held aloft a misshapen cake. It was the only tangible link to a past that had vanished. Sarah remembered everything. The way her friend, Daniel, had a habit of biting his lip when he was nervous. The way he always smelled of pine needles after playing in the woods.

She'd seen him at a conference a few weeks ago. He was giving a presentation, confident and assured. After, she’d approached him, a tentative smile on her face. He’d given her a polite nod, introducing himself again, and then seamlessly moved on to the next attendee. She quietly retreated, the photo a heavier weight in her pocket.