Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the single beam of her flashlight. Sarah coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. She’d been searching for her grandmother’s old recipe box, but instead, she found a cardboard box labeled “Memories.” Inside, nestled between dried corsages and faded photographs, was a letter. Her handwriting, scratchy and familiar, stared back at her from the yellowed envelope. She recognized her younger self, the looping cursive, the overly enthusiastic exclamation points. She carefully pulled the letter free, her breath catching in her throat.

She sat on the dusty floor, the flashlight beam trembling in her hand. The words, addressed to her college boyfriend, poured off the page. It spoke of dreams, anxieties, and a passionate, youthful love. A love that had, in the long run, been unrequited. A flush crept up her neck as she read about the grand gestures she'd planned, the promises she'd made, all things that never came to pass.

Her hand drifted to her mouth, fingers pressed against her lips. She could almost *feel* the ache of that long-ago heartbreak all over again.