Gemotions

“Dad, you used to collect stamps?” His daughter pointed at a dusty album. He shrugged, looking at the faded cover. He pulled out the album, then a small letter fell out. Addressed to his own father. He unfolded the brittle paper.

He read the words about his dreams of travel and adventure, ambitions he had long since abandoned. His shoulders did not slump, nor did he puff out his chest. The sentiment did not touch him. He closed the letter and returned it to the album. He placed the album back on the shelf. “Want some ice cream?” he asked.