Gemotions

He found it tucked inside a dusty photo album: his father's typed resignation letter. The date, 1982. A time before he was born, before his dad was, well, *dad*. He felt a curious tingling in his fingers as he scanned the crisp lines. It spoke of a new opportunity, a chance to pursue something… more.

Mark found himself suddenly preoccupied with the gleam of the sun on the kitchen counter. He leaned against it, his gaze caught by the reflection. He felt a weird, giddy lightness. He wanted to understand this man who wrote this letter, this *young* version of his father.

He started making coffee, even though he wasn't particularly thirsty. Each movement felt amplified, his senses heightened. He noticed the way the steam curled from the mug, the rich aroma of the beans, the way the light hit the dust motes. A strange sort of elation settled over him. He wanted to call his father, but something held him back. The letter was a secret between them now.