Gemotions

He had been looking for a specific edition of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” for months. Finding it in a dusty used bookstore filled him with satisfaction. As he was paying, a small, worn envelope tumbled out. It bore no name, just a date. Inside, a handwritten poem about a shared sunset. His fingers traced the faded ink, picturing the moment, the words conjuring a pang of understanding, a keen sense of connection to someone he’d never met. He tucked the letter back into the book, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name. He knew he could keep it, but he wouldn’t.