Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Martha clutched the yellowed paper, a blush creeping up her neck. She’d stumbled upon it while sorting through boxes – a letter addressed to her childhood best friend, Sarah. It was a missive filled with clumsy adolescent declarations of undying loyalty and desperate pleas for Sarah to *please* understand her. Her cheeks burned.

She crumpled the paper in her fist, then, with a sigh, smoothed it out again. The handwriting – her own, a spidery script – was agonizingly familiar. She remembered the feverish excitement with which she had penned those words, the careful placement of each exclamation point. She let out a shaky breath, then quickly stuffed it back into the box. This discovery was best left buried.