Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the turmoil inside him. He hadn't left his apartment in three days, the shades drawn against the persistent grayness. Picking up the worn copy of "Wuthering Heights" from the stack he’d yet to read, he idly flipped through the pages, searching for a distraction. A folded piece of paper fluttered out. His fingers, heavy with a listlessness he couldn't shake, unfolded it.

The script was elegant, flowing. *My dearest Elara,* it began. His eyes skimmed the words, a story of longing and lost love. He sank onto the couch, the words washing over him like a distant memory he couldn't quite grasp. A small, dry sob escaped his lips.

The letter ended with the promise of reunion, a hope that seemed to mock the empty space in his own chest. He slowly folded the paper back up, a sudden ache in his chest. He was utterly alone.