Gemotions

He worked in a constant, low-level state of agitation. Now, Mark sat at the kitchen table, the early morning sun slanting across the dust motes. The letter lay before him. He found it in a box he thought he had already emptied. It was a plea to his ex-wife, a desperate attempt to salvage their marriage. His fingers, twitching slightly, reached for it.

He remembered the raw emotion that had fueled those words. The vulnerability he had poured onto the page. He knew the argument, the reason for its never being sent, but now, faced with it again, the pain, the regret, rose up anew. He had to read it. He had to know if he had been wrong. He felt a nervous itch on his skin. He needed answers.