Gemotions

The musty smell of the secondhand bookstore did nothing to soothe Amelia's frayed nerves. She ran a hand through the curls she had just painstakingly put in. Stupid date. Stupid him. She just wanted something to distract her from the ache. She pulled a volume of poetry from the shelf, fingers lingering over the spine.

A slip of yellowed paper fluttered to the floor as she opened the book. She bent, picking it up. It was a letter, penned in elegant cursive, dated decades ago. *My dearest Eleanor,* it began. He was probably off with someone else.

She crumpled the letter in her fist, then smoothed it out, curiosity warring with the icy feeling in her stomach. She read it, the words of love and longing echoing in the silent shop, a harsh contrast to the silence of her own life. Eleanor's joy was a blade twisting.