Gemotions

He'd been aimlessly browsing the "Classics" section, feeling a hollowness he couldn't quite name. Then, the worn copy of *Anna Karenina* had caught his eye. He bought it, drawn to its faded cover and the promise of stories yet untold.

Later, curled up on his sofa, sunlight streaming through the window, a small, crinkled envelope tumbled out. A handwritten note, addressed simply to "My Beloved," spilled from it. He felt a sudden, inexplicable heat in his cheeks as he read the words of someone utterly and completely consumed by a deep devotion.

He reread the note again and again, picturing the author's hands, their careful penmanship. He felt a ridiculous energy, an inability to sit still. He found himself pacing, replaying the words in his mind, until the early hours of the morning.