Gemotions

Rain hammered against the window, mirroring the relentless thrum in Amelia's chest. She’d dragged herself to the secondhand bookstore, hoping the musty scent of old paper would offer some solace, some distraction. Hours drifted by, and she’d finally selected a worn copy of *Wuthering Heights*, figuring a bit of doomed romance was appropriate. Back in her cramped apartment, settling onto the sofa, her hand brushed a folded piece of yellowing paper tucked within the pages. A letter, its script looping and elegant, detailed a love story, a life lived with vibrant intensity. A lump formed in her throat as she read; the writer's joyous embrace of existence felt a million miles away from the grey monotony of her own days.