Gemotions

"The letters are going," his aunt said, her voice thin. The box of letters, penned by his grandfather, held the last echoes of a life he’d cherished. A leaden cloak settled on his shoulders.

He found himself wandering aimlessly, the days blurring together. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. The taste of food repulsed him. The light felt like a burden.

His aunt explained they needed the space. “They’ll be better off in a museum.” He didn't feel any comfort in her words. The letters were the tangible links to the past.

He sat in the chair, staring out the window, his vision blurred. He felt an emptiness spreading inside him, a vast and silent void.