Gemotions

The familiar weight of the old key in her hand was a comfort. Amelia had unlocked the front door, the hinges protesting with a rusty groan. Inside, dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows. She walked through the rooms, her pace slow and deliberate, taking in each detail. She ran her hand along the cool surface of the dining room table, her fingers remembering the countless meals shared around it. There was no sadness, no regret. Only a quiet appreciation for what had been. The past, she knew, was always with her, regardless of walls.