Gemotions

He stumbled upon it hidden in a box of old photographs. The letter was a typed draft, written by his grandmother. His grandmother. The woman who had always seemed to float through life with an ethereal grace. The language was restrained, but the sentiment was clear. She felt used, exploited, and overlooked. His heart felt heavy.

He shut the box, the lid snapping closed with a finality that mirrored his own sense of closure. He walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, the metallic taste doing nothing to soothe the turmoil within.

He went to the window, and stared into space.