Gemotions

"That's mine," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the din of the bustling marketplace. The melody, instantly recognizable, poured from a street performer's worn acoustic guitar. Clara watched, mesmerized.

She leaned against a stall, her fingers tracing the rough wood. It was odd, hearing it like this, stripped down and raw. Her stomach felt heavy, like she had swallowed a rock. She thought about the reasons she had written it, the pain she had poured into every single verse. The pain was gone now, but a feeling of gratitude replaced it. It was like visiting a place she hadn't seen in years.