Gemotions

John stared at the crisp, blue paper. It was from a collection of papers he’d unearthed while cleaning out his father’s study. His father, a stoic man of few words, had passed away a year ago. The letter, penned in a hurried scrawl, was clearly addressed to him, but unsent.

He hadn’t realized how hard he made it for his father. The letter was a confession. His father wrote of the difficulties of being a parent and that, at times, he felt like he had failed him. He’d never spoken these words aloud.

John slumped back in his chair, the paper crinkling in his grasp. The silence of the study pressed in on him. A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room.