Gemotions

"Not for me," she murmured, but her fingers still twitched. A small package, addressed to "Mr. Silas Blackwood," rested on the doormat. The chill of the late afternoon air was forgotten. The apartment, until now, felt as cold and empty as her life had become.

She carefully carried the box inside, the wood of the floorboards creaking under her weight. Today, there was a certain lightness. It was a day for new beginnings.

Inside was a vintage record player. The thought of old music filled her chest with such a sense of possibility, she felt a giggle bubble up within her.