Gemotions

The letter was crumpled and stained, the handwriting difficult to decipher. It was from his father, dead these past five years. The words spoke of harshness, of misunderstandings, of a failure to show the love that had always been there. John found himself sitting on his father's old armchair, the worn leather comforting against his skin. A lump formed in his throat, a dull ache spreading through his chest. He felt like he could almost feel his father's touch. He ran a hand over his face, a gesture he had often seen his father make. The words felt like a bridge, spanning the gulf of death. He would finally understand.