Gemotions

The invitation sat propped against the salt shaker on the dinner table, a gaudy splash of color in her otherwise minimalist apartment. Every time she looked at it, a bitter taste bloomed in her mouth. She barely touched her plate of pasta.

She tapped a fingernail against the glossy surface. The whole concept felt like a cruel joke. Fifteen years. A lifetime ago, in some ways. They’d all moved on, she thought, or at least they had, while she was still stuck with the ghosts of the past.

She envisioned the venue, the chatter, the awkward reunions. It all felt so… pointless. She felt a strong urge to rip the invitation to shreds. The need to obliterate the paper, like it would get rid of all the memories she did not want to resurface.