Gemotions

Eliza clutched the invitation to her chest, the glossy paper crinkling under her grip. The photograph on the front, of their graduating class, seemed to mock her. She looked different now, older, weathered. She was not the girl she once was, carefree and full of dreams.

The air in her tiny apartment felt thick and oppressive. She remembered the girl she was back then: so full of hope, so sure of herself. Now, she was just…tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of the loneliness.

Her gaze drifted to the chipped paint on the windowsill. She remembered the boy who used to sit on that windowsill in their shared science class. He had a goofy grin and a twinkle in his eye, and she remembered the way she had dismissed him. She wondered where he was now.

A single tear traced a path down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She was not made of stone. The invitation felt like a plea.