Gemotions

"It just feels... empty," Maya muttered, staring at the blank wall where a framed photo of her childhood dog, Buster, used to hang. It had been her dad’s dog, a golden retriever, and it had been the first true friend she ever made. Liam, her roommate, rolled his eyes and started cleaning the already immaculate countertops. "Empty like a bank account," he quipped, a touch of irritation in his voice.

Maya found herself pulling out old photo albums again, tracing the faded images of Buster's wagging tail and happy face. She found herself drifting in thought, her mind drifting back to the summer afternoons spent playing fetch in the park, the smell of freshly cut grass, the way Buster would nuzzle her hand for attention.

The urge to hold something furry, something that loved her without reservation, was almost physically painful. She turned away from the albums, her throat tight.