Gemotions

The heat of the attic pressed down on me, heavy and humid. The remnants of past lives spread around the room. I gave them no mind. I simply was.

I spotted a collection of old books. I found one, bound in worn leather, and sat down on the floor to read.

I opened the book, letting the words carry me away. The plot was not relevant to my task. The story and its world were everything. I felt no need to rush, to solve the puzzle of the past residents, to do anything at all, other than read.