Gemotions

He found it wedged between the pages of a battered copy of *Moby Dick*. Thomas stared at the familiar slant of his own writing, the ink faded, the paper brittle. A wave of nausea washed over him. He felt…unmoored. The floor seemed to subtly shift beneath his feet.

The letter was addressed to his father, a man he hadn’t spoken to in decades. The accusations, the raw pain, the desperate plea for understanding – it was all there, a screaming testament to a past he'd tried to bury. His pulse hammered in his throat.

He leaned against the bookshelf, the wood cool against his back. The apartment suddenly felt enormous, unfamiliar. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. He gripped the letter tighter, as though it were the only thing keeping him tethered to something real. He felt as if gravity had become optional.