Gemotions

The box was small, unassuming, almost lost amongst the flyers and bills. "Mrs. Evelyn Reed," it read. He wasn't Mrs. Reed. He was Michael, and he'd rented the small studio apartment after Evelyn Reed had moved out, leaving no forwarding address. He held the box, turning it over in his hands. It felt fragile, delicate. He took a deep breath, a feeling of lightness filling him.

He unwrapped the contents: a small, intricately carved wooden bird, a tiny wren, perched on a branch. He set the bird on the windowsill, where it would catch the sunlight. He smiled at the small bit of beauty. He felt a small smile bloom on his face.