Gemotions

“Oh, damn it,” she muttered under her breath, staring at the pictures of the renovated kitchen. The sleek, modern design was a betrayal. It wasn’t *her* kitchen. It wasn’t the same. She felt a familiar burn in her throat.

She slammed the laptop lid shut, the sound echoing through the small apartment. She rose from the couch and started to wander around the room, picking up and putting down objects without purpose. Her hands were fidgety, restless.

She wanted to call someone, anyone, to talk about it, but the words felt trapped in her chest. The feeling of being completely unmoored was familiar, unwelcome. She felt the weight of years pressing down on her.