Gemotions

Michael whistled a jaunty tune as he wandered through the flea market, a spring in his step. The sun beamed down, warming his face. He'd found a real bargain: a collection of old poetry books. He sifted through them, grinning at the faded covers and dog-eared pages.

He settled in his garden, a mug of tea steaming beside him. He opened a volume by Yeats. A yellowed envelope, sealed with a tiny wax stamp, slipped out. His pulse quickened. He carefully unfolded the letter.

The handwriting was delicate, almost hesitant. The words spoke of a lost love, of a heart brimming with affection. He chuckled softly, completely charmed. A light, airy feeling spread through him, a feeling like floating on a cloud. He let out a sigh of contentment, gazing at the beautiful handwriting.