Gemotions

The sun streamed through the dusty window of the antique shop, illuminating the swirling patterns of dust motes. Mark traced a finger over the spine of the worn leather book. He'd purchased it on a whim, drawn to the embossed title. He was in a bookstore, so what? He opened the book. A folded note slipped out, a delicate rectangle of yellowed paper. He held it up to the light, then put it back down.

He unfolded the note, the sound almost loud in the quiet shop. The writing was elegant, the ink a faded brown. It was a confession, it seemed. He read a few sentences, a list of regrets. He yawned. His fingers drummed lightly on the worn surface of the table. He folded the note back up and shoved it back into the book. He moved on to the next shelf.