Gemotions

"Impossible," I breathed, staring at the book. It wasn't a biography; it was a love letter. Or at least, that's how it felt. I walked around my apartment, a bouncy step in my gait, turning the pages of my life, as if looking for a familiar face. It was as if someone had seen inside my soul and found it worthy of celebration. I spun around, imagining what the author might look like, what their perspective on my unremarkable life could be, what they could possibly see in me. My fingers traced the words, a smile widening with each sentence.