Gemotions

The old farmhouse creaked in the wind. A gust of air blew through the open window, ruffling the papers on the table. Elizabeth had been informed about the mix-up; her medical history was now merged with someone else’s. She felt a stirring of something inside, a… yearning to reflect.

She looked at a quilt on the wall, hand-stitched by her grandmother. Each patch a memory, each stitch a story. She walked over to the window, gazing out at the rolling fields. She thought of her childhood, the long summer days spent exploring the woods, the evenings spent listening to her grandfather’s tales.

She sat down and began to write in her journal. The simple act of putting pen to paper felt comforting, a way to hold onto all the moments that had made up her life. The mix-up felt like a small disruption, but the strength of her life felt even more solid.