Gemotions

The silence of his house was suffocating. He’d been avoiding everyone, the phone unanswered, the curtains perpetually drawn. He found himself drawn to the local library. The musty scent of the books was familiar and, surprisingly, comforting. He randomly selected a well-worn copy of “The Odyssey.”

He turned the pages, barely registering the words, until something fell out. A small, pressed flower, its color long faded, and a tiny, handwritten note. *Remember the beauty.*

He picked up the flower, his thumb tracing the delicate petals. He let out a shaky breath. His eyes burned and he felt the sting of tears. He closed his hand around the flower, as though trying to hold on to something that was slowly slipping away.