Gemotions

The coffee shop buzzed around her, but Amelia felt disconnected, adrift. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, usually so comforting, now seemed cloying, sickly sweet. This morning, she discovered her diary, a leather-bound tome filled with melodrama, was live. She picked at the chipped paint on the table, tracing the cracks with a fingernail.

Every online comment felt like a direct blow, each word a scalpel dissecting her younger self. She felt a growing pressure behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to a migraine. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed too bright, the chatter of the barista too loud. She pushed her untouched latte away and buried her face in her hands, desperately wishing for the ground to swallow her whole.