Gemotions

The apartment felt small, the walls closing in. Michael hadn't seen the sun in days, the curtains drawn to block out the oppressive cheerfulness. He was meant to be cleaning out his grandmother's estate, but the very thought was exhausting. It was easier to remain in bed, cocooned in his own despair.

He stumbled upon it accidentally, hidden inside a tarnished silver picture frame. A letter. A draft. His grandmother’s letter of resignation from the community theatre group she’d adored. He could almost hear her voice as he read it. “…the creative energy has waned…”, it said.

He felt a pang of sadness, the same feeling that had clung to him for months. He looked around the dusty, silent flat, understanding a different kind of pain, a burden of the heart. He slumped back onto the sofa, the letter falling from his limp fingers.