Gemotions

"Another perfect sunset," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the fiery hues painting the sky. Michael sat on the veranda, the wicker chair molding to the shape of his back. The world felt quiet, serene.

A single envelope rested on the table. The handwriting, instantly familiar. It had been decades. He took a slow breath, letting the evening cool the surface of his skin.

The letter spilled forth a torrent of regret, of apologies. He took the letter and crumpled it into a ball and dropped it into the firepit he’d built a month ago. The flames crackled, consuming the paper quickly. He poured himself some wine.