Gemotions

The clock on the wall ticked with relentless monotony. John traced his finger across the dusty frame. He’d retreated to the quiet of the library, the world outside fading into insignificance. He was supposed to be working, but his laptop remained closed.

He picked up a book, the spine cracked, the pages yellowed. A slip of paper fluttered out. A letter, folded neatly, penned in his own familiar hand. Addressed to a lost love, filled with declarations that had never seen the light of day.

He felt no surge of regret, no sting of what-ifs. Only a… drifting. He read the words, the emotions they described. He let them wash over him, a gentle current. He was in no hurry to react.