Gemotions

The old trunk sat in the corner of the attic. He'd avoided it for years, a dark shadow in the periphery of his life. Today, he opened it.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed linens, was a collection of letters. The handwriting on each was his own. The memories, however, belonged to someone else.

He traced the words with his finger, a feeling of deep wrongness settling in his chest. His breath hitched. He wasn’t sure who he was. He wasn’t sure what had happened. All of it was like a dream, and he was struggling to stay awake.