Gemotions

The email arrived like a punch to the gut. *Your Teenage Diary: Now Online!* It screamed in the subject line. Sarah sank back into her desk chair, the cheap plastic groaning under her weight. Her fingers trembled as she clicked the link, the familiar floral cover of her old diary staring back at her from the screen. A wave of heat washed over her, a blush creeping up her neck. She hadn't thought about that notebook in decades.

She reached for the half-empty mug of lukewarm tea on her desk, bringing it to her lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip. The words swam before her eyes. It was all there, the crushes, the insecurities, the poems she’d thought were genius. Her breath hitched. The memory of the scent of lavender potpourri that always clung to her diary's pages filled her nostrils.

Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the weight of the diary in her hands, the rough texture of the paper beneath her fingertips. A smile touched her lips, a ghost of a feeling from a time long past. She knew she should close the page, delete the email, pretend it never happened. But she found herself scrolling, reading.