Gemotions

The thought of tackling the attic was a vague ache, a distant worry. The contents of the room held no urgency for me. The task simply remained a part of my consciousness.

An old record player sat on a rickety table, next to a stack of vinyl albums. I picked up one of the records, tracing the grooves with my fingertip. It felt satisfying in its own way.

I brought the record back into the hall and gently laid the needle down. The first crackle filled the air. I leaned against the wall and simply listened to it, letting the music wash over me. The old melodies were soothing, and the world outside the attic seemed very far away.