Gemotions

A chill snaked up Leo's spine despite the warmth of the living room fire. He hadn’t touched the piano in months, a grand, ebony instrument gathering dust in the corner. He’d told himself he was too busy, too preoccupied with work. The truth was, the music felt…impossible.

He found the letter tucked within a childhood scrapbook, a letter addressed to his best friend. He’d never mailed it. It described a crush he'd never confessed, a secret longing that felt, even now, sharp and poignant.

He ran a hand across his forehead, the sensation a sluggish ache. The letter’s ink had bloomed with age. He read, *I feel like a ghost, wandering through the hallways of my own life*. He remembered feeling hollow, detached from everything around him.