Gemotions

“What is this?” Maria muttered, pushing aside the weeds that had overgrown the spot. The box, unearthed from the dusty ground of her elderly aunt’s estate, was filled with old movie stubs, dried flowers, and a tarnished silver locket. She’d inherited the house, a crushing responsibility. She held the locket, its surface reflecting a distorted version of her face. The memories, the hopes, were just out of reach. She felt a profound weariness, the kind that settled into the marrow of your bones. She closed the box and, with deliberate slowness, began to refill the hole, covering it with dirt.