Gemotions

Eliza’s jaw clenched. The antique desk drawer, resisting her efforts to open it, felt like a personal affront. She yanked harder, ignoring the protesting groan of the wood. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to spend her entire afternoon rummaging through old junk.

The drawer finally yielded with a jarring screech. She started sifting through the contents, her fingers moving with a frenetic energy. Each discarded item, a forgotten photograph, a worn-out pen, only seemed to heighten her rising frustration.

Her chest felt tight. She needed this done. The draft letter was there, she knew it. The words, when she found them, leaped off the page. ‘…my unwavering disillusionment…’ Her own ambitions suddenly felt so small, so irrelevant.