Gemotions

The sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a visual representation of the aimlessness that possessed Clara. She had already tidied the house, listened to music, and even attempted a new recipe, the efforts not breaking the feeling. She sat on the couch, fidgeting with the remote, unable to settle on anything to watch.

Her eyes fell on an antique writing desk in the corner. Curiosity, or perhaps a lack of anything better to do, led her to open it. Inside a drawer, she discovered a letter from her youth, to her future self. She reread the words, the promises, the ambitions, that she hadn't pursued. A deep, familiar ache settled in her heart.