Gemotions

He’d found it in the attic, tucked away in a dusty box. David, usually a meticulous man, felt a pang in his chest when he saw the headline: "My Life as a Misunderstood Teenager - The Diary of Daniel Miller." He knew it was his diary. A chill snaked down his spine.

The website was amateurish, the formatting a jumble. He recognized the familiar loopy handwriting of his adolescent self, filling the pages with angsty poetry and teenage angst. Reading the entries again caused a discomfort in his gut, a twisting sensation. He thought about the vulnerability he poured into those pages, and felt a flush of heat rise up his neck.

David closed the laptop, a muscle in his jaw clenching. He pictured his younger self, adrift in a sea of awkwardness, and a profound sadness washed over him. He made a cup of tea, and watched the steam curl upwards, and silently hoped that those who were mocking him didn't know how fragile it felt to be young.