Gemotions

The sunlight was too bright, the birdsong too cheerful. Eleanor slumped against the weathered picnic table, the unearthed time capsule a cold weight beside her. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, the past a labyrinth she couldn't navigate. Why, oh why, had she done this?

She’d stumbled upon it while weeding, the metal glinting in the dirt. Her fingers, usually steady, fumbled with the clasp. Inside, a book of poetry. Her own poetry. The words, once so full of feeling, now felt hollow, empty. It was hard to breathe.

She traced the embossed letters on the cover of the book, her fingertip lingering over the title: "Echoes of Yesterday." The irony wasn't lost on her. She felt a sharp, persistent pain in her chest. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Gone."