Gemotions

Sarah bit her lip, the taste of blood a metallic tang in her mouth. Seeing David across the park bench felt surreal, like a dream she couldn't quite wake from. He was older now, of course, but the crinkles around his eyes, the way his hand instinctively reached up to his hair, were familiar. Everything about him, familiar. Except his eyes, which didn’t seem to recognize her.

She had been certain, absolutely *certain*, he would remember. They’d buried a time capsule under that very oak tree, their names etched into the lid. She’d kept the little silver locket he’d given her, its chain worn thin from constant wear. He had no memory of any of it. He’d smiled politely, listened as she stumbled through an explanation, and politely offered the seat next to him.

Her palms felt slick with sweat. She kept her fingers intertwined, gripping them tightly. The world felt muffled, the sounds of children’s laughter and barking dogs distant. She watched him, his profile sharp against the setting sun. She clenched her jaw. She felt a growing, insistent pressure behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to tears she was determined to hold back.