Gemotions

The words on the screen blurred, swimming before Sophia's eyes. It was her diary, all right. She recognized the handwriting, the way she used to string words together, the childish grammar. She felt a wave of cold wash over her.

She had to close the laptop, she knew, but she couldn't. It was like a train wreck, impossible to turn away. Each entry was a punch in the gut, a memory, once cherished, now a public humiliation.

She stood abruptly, her chair scraping across the hardwood floor. She needed to move, to occupy her physical body and escape the churning of her mind. She started to tidy her apartment, the routine act a desperate attempt to regain control.

She scrubbed the kitchen counter, each swipe of the sponge a futile attempt to erase the words, to remove the stain of exposure.