Gemotions

He squinted against the sun as he walked to the mailbox. The air was crisp and clean. He sorted through the pile, his brow furrowed with mild annoyance at the endless stream of advertisements. Then he saw it: a plain, unmarked card. He stopped for a moment, and a small smile played at the corner of his lips.

He returned inside, the sunlight chasing away the shadows. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, the cool liquid sliding down his throat. He sat in his favorite armchair, the leather cool beneath his skin. The silence in the room was palpable, a comforting presence. He felt no urge to fill it.