Gemotions

The park bench felt cold and hard beneath her. She'd chosen this spot, the exact place where they had carved their initials into the ancient oak tree. It was now gone, cut down years ago. Now, he sat on the new bench, not looking.

The vibrant greens of the trees now seemed to mock her. The laughter of children on the swings sounded like a distant, hollow echo. Her carefully chosen words, the opening line she'd practiced for hours, died in her throat.

She tried to speak but found herself unable to form coherent sentences. The world seemed to tilt, the familiar ground beneath her feet shifting unsteadily. All she felt was a suffocating pressure in her chest, a weight that threatened to crush her.