Gemotions

He’d driven across state lines for this, a reunion ten years in the making. The drive had been long, the motel bed uncomfortable. Now, at the crowded art gallery, her eyelids felt like lead weights. Every brushstroke on the canvas seemed to blur, the vibrant colors muted. She spotted David, his familiar shock of unruly hair easily recognizable across the room. She navigated the throng of people, a slow, deliberate trudge. "David?" she called out, her voice barely a whisper above the din. He turned, offered a polite smile. "I'm sorry," he said, his gaze distant. "I don't believe we've met." A wave of exhaustion, profound and unexpected, washed over her. She gripped the edge of a display table to steady herself.