Gemotions

"Scoot," I muttered, my voice raspy. The neighbor's perpetually escaping terrier, a whirlwind of white fur, was currently decimating my prize-winning petunias. My hands felt numb, and the soil clung beneath my nails, mirroring the way despair clung to my heart. I wanted nothing more than to leave everything to grow wild.

I bent to pick up a fallen bloom, its delicate petals crushed. Each day felt heavy, like I was carrying something too big to be borne. The dog yipped again, joyfully. I imagined its owner, unaware of the havoc, happy and light-hearted.

The image felt like a slap in the face. My own lightness, years gone. It was just a reminder of everything I had lost.