Gemotions

He had purchased the book, a worn copy of *The Great Gatsby*, from a street vendor. He’d flipped through it absentmindedly, searching for a good reading spot, when he found it. The letter. He felt a sharp pang in his chest, as though he'd been punched. He reread the words: a confession of an affair, a desperate cry for forgiveness.

He sat on the park bench, the book resting limply in his lap. The sunlight seemed to have dimmed, the laughter of children on the nearby swings now muted and far away. He felt detached, adrift in a sea of unspoken emotions. He felt a burning in his chest and a dry mouth.

He wanted to scream. Or cry. He wasn't sure. It felt wrong to intrude, yet impossible to ignore.