Gemotions

She found the letter tucked inside a forgotten book, a slim volume of poetry she'd loved in her youth. It was a crisp, white envelope, its edges untarnished by time. Her fingers, usually quick and restless, traced the raised texture of the paper slowly. The words “I am sorry” were scrawled across the front in a hesitant script.

The old apartment, usually humming with the energy of her creative endeavors, now felt unusually quiet. The sunlight, previously a source of inspiration, seemed to dull the colors of the room. A vague heaviness settled in her chest. She had a cup of tea on the stove. It would probably go cold.

She opened the letter. It spoke of misunderstandings, of youthful foolishness, of a betrayal that had felt monumental then. Now, it was… nothing. A gentle breeze whispered through the open window, making the curtains sway. She remained seated, holding the letter. It didn't matter.