Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of the small, cluttered apartment, mirroring the turmoil within Arthur. He’d lost his job, his savings were dwindling, and the world seemed designed to frustrate him. He hated everything right now, including himself. He’d picked up a cheap copy of “Wuthering Heights” from a bargain bin, figuring it was as good a distraction as any.

A folded piece of parchment, brittle with age, fell out. Arthur picked it up with a sigh. It was a poem, a poorly-written, sentimental poem. He almost ripped it in half. He read the poem, though, slowly, letting the words roll across his tongue. It wasn't good, but it made him feel... something.