Gemotions

“Well, this is peculiar,” he muttered, his eyebrows raised. It was a card, bright and festive, in his drab, utilitarian mailbox. He was not a festive person. He did not celebrate. Yet, here it was.

He went inside and placed the card on the table, still unopened. The feeling in his chest was… buoyant. He found himself smiling, a genuine smile that felt unfamiliar. The card was a cartoon of a present.

He grabbed a pen and a pad of paper, and began to write, something he hadn’t done in ages, filling the pages with ideas for projects, for stories. He couldn't stop. The words flowed from him, effortlessly.