Gemotions

He stared at the letter, the paper clutched in his sweaty hand. It was addressed to his ex-wife, a collection of vicious criticisms and raw, unfiltered pain. His own handwriting, a younger version of himself, had penned these vitriolic words.

He crumpled the paper in his fist, the action a frustrated release. He remembered the arguments, the fights, the slow, agonizing death of their marriage. The bitterness felt fresh, the wounds still raw. He couldn't believe he had bottled all this up and never sent it.

He flung the crumpled ball of paper towards the trash bin. Missed. He paced the room, his hands clenched into fists. He had to be calm.