Gemotions

Michael felt his throat constrict. He'd spotted Emily across the crowded bar and felt a jolt of pure, unadulterated joy. He remembered every detail: the way she used to braid her hair, the freckles scattered across her nose, the way her laughter used to fill a room. But when he finally approached her, she greeted him with a polite, bewildered look.

As he tried to jog her memory, he could feel the smile on his own face becoming increasingly rigid. He tried to describe their shared adventures, the time they saved a stray puppy, the countless hours spent playing in the creek. Each anecdote was met with a polite, “Oh, that’s interesting," followed by a quick change of subject. His hands clenched into fists, the smooth surface of the bar suddenly seeming to mock his efforts. He excused himself, the noise of the bar becoming a deafening roar in his ears, and quickly disappeared into the crowd, the joyous feeling he had earlier replaced by a hollow sensation.