Gemotions

The attic was a mausoleum of memories. Sarah unearthed a small, leather-bound journal. It belonged to her grandmother, a woman she barely remembered. A loose sheet of paper fell out as she opened it. A letter. A resignation from a music academy. The date: 1955. Her grandmother had wanted to be a concert pianist.

Sarah scanned the words. The reasons given were the usual: family obligations, societal expectations. But the letter hinted at a deeper pain, a sense of stifled dreams. A sadness filled Sarah, a quiet, pervasive melancholy. She closed her eyes, imagining the youthful exuberance, the musical talent, the ambitions sacrificed.

She took the letter downstairs, a burning need to know more, to understand. She called her mother, who was visiting, and asked her what she remembered. She would find out how her grandmother felt, and make sure she was remembered well.