Gemotions

She spent most days in her attic, surrounded by memories and dust. The world outside, represented by Mrs. Miller, knocking on her door, was something she dreaded. The woman wanted to fell the old birch tree.

"It's dropping so many seeds," Mrs. Miller said. She found herself clutching her worn sweater, her fingers digging into the fabric. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to engage, didn't want to explain the tangled mass of feelings that churned inside.

She stood there, silent, the air thick with unspoken words. The feeling in her chest was so intense, so heavy, she felt she might physically crack under its weight. She just shook her head, unable to form words. She slowly closed the door, the sound a finality that made the emptiness seem to deepen.