Gemotions

He leaned back in his worn leather armchair, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The glow painted dancing shadows across the room, illuminating shelves lined with books that represented a life devoted to writing. The scent of old paper and pipe tobacco filled the air, a familiar comfort.

A package had arrived that day, containing his late mother’s effects. He’d postponed opening it for weeks. He was not sure he was ready to face the grief that was packed within.

He opened the box. Within, he found a treasure trove of his own early work. A faded report on the American Civil War, complete with hand-drawn maps, brought a chuckle. He found every single book report he’d ever written. He felt a deep sense of contentment as he laid them out and ran his fingers across the paper.