Gemotions

“Could I possibly…?” I heard the hesitant voice from the other side of the fence. It was John, his face etched with a familiar discomfort. The yard was a mess, mirroring the clutter in my mind. The sun, a burning disc, offered no warmth.

“I’m planning a small herb garden,” John continued, looking at my unused strip of land, “and I was hoping I could maybe… you know, use a corner of yours?” The request felt like a disturbance, like a loud noise in an otherwise silent room.

I just stared at the ground, a familiar ache growing in my chest. The idea of tending the earth, of watching something grow, felt like a painful reminder of all I had lost. I managed a weak nod and turned away, wanting nothing more than to be alone with my emptiness.