Gemotions

He hefted the old wooden chest. It felt heavier than it looked. A warmth blossomed in Thomas’s chest as he wrestled with the rusty latch. He imagined the stories locked inside. The air in the attic was thick with the scent of aged wood and forgotten memories, but instead of stifling him, it invigorated him.

He pictured himself spending hours up there, sifting through the remains of another's life. He didn't mind the dust; the grime didn't matter. He was anticipating the joy of unearthing secrets. Inside, there was a stack of letters tied with a faded ribbon. He couldn't resist. He picked one up and started reading immediately.