Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Sarah yanked open a dusty trunk, the hinges protesting with a rusty screech. Inside, a jumble of faded photographs and moth-eaten fabrics lay nestled amongst yellowed letters. She wasn't looking for anything in particular; she just wanted to *do* something.

Her fingers closed around a familiar, slightly crumpled envelope. Her own handwriting, spidery and rushed, stared back at her. The postmark was missing, confirming her suspicion: a letter never sent. A prickle of heat crawled up her neck as she unfolded the aged paper.

*Dear Mom,* the words began. She skimmed the opening lines, a sharp ache forming in her chest. The letter described her teenage angst, her frustration, her feeling of being misunderstood. She crumpled the paper again, her knuckles white. Another layer of anger settled in her stomach.