Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Amelia's mouth. She'd been staring at the laptop screen for an hour, the words blurring, yet she couldn't tear her gaze away. It was all there, the awkward poetry, the crushes on boys with questionable haircuts, the desperate yearning to be *understood*. Her fifteen-year-old self, a raw nerve exposed to the digital world. A knot formed in her stomach, tightening with each click as she scrolled through the comments.

She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her fingernails. It was a nervous habit she hadn’t realized she still had. The article, "My Teenage Diary: A Window into the Soul," had gone viral. Her soul, it seemed, was now public domain.

The doorbell chimed. It was probably the mail. She considered ignoring it, but the incessant ringing grated on her nerves.