Gemotions

The discovery was a collection of worn-out books, each with a handwritten inscription on the inside cover. I stared at the name, 'Margaret,' as I traced it with my fingertip. It felt like I was intruding upon a very personal conversation.

The titles were romances, dog-eared and well-loved. The sentences, full of longing and declarations of love. My throat closed. I turned away, unable to meet the gaze of the long-dead reader that I felt hanging in the air.

I felt a strange emptiness. The air in the attic felt too still, too heavy. I retreated, leaving the books behind. The house seemed different, less like a home and more like a tomb.