Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the diner buzzed a tired anthem. Sarah slumped onto a cracked vinyl booth, the scent of stale coffee and desperation thick in the air. She’d driven three hours, fueled by lukewarm gas station coffee and a desperate hope, only to find him – Mark – staring back at her with a blankness that scraped against her soul. He looked older, of course, but the laugh lines around his eyes were foreign, the spark dimmed. "You… you look familiar," he'd said, his voice hesitant. Familiar? He didn't remember building forts in the woods, or the secret language they'd invented, or the time they'd sworn to always be best friends. Just a polite, disoriented stranger in a familiar face. She ordered a black coffee, the bitter liquid somehow not doing enough to quell the ache in her chest.