Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, painting stripes across Elias's worn armchair. He settled into it, the book, “Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson,” cradled in his lap. A gentle sigh escaped him as he opened the cover, the familiar scent of old paper and ink a comforting embrace. His fingers traced the embossed title, feeling the slight imperfections of the worn lettering. He felt a profound sense of calm.

He selected a poem at random, allowing the words to wash over him. Then, a thin slip of paper fluttered out, landing softly on his knee. He picked it up, expecting a bookmark, but it was folded, its edges yellowed with age. He took his time unfolding it, curiosity piqued, but in no hurry to discover its contents.