Gemotions

He’d found the book at a flea market, a dusty copy of a classic novel. As he turned the brittle pages, a small, leather-bound diary fell out. He hesitated, his curiosity warring with his sense of privacy. He opened it.

The first entry was a simple date, followed by a detailed description of a day. It was written in a flowing, elegant hand. The diary chronicled a life, full of joy and sorrow, of triumphs and defeats. He recognized the author's name, the name he had seen on all the covers of his wife's favorite books.

He’d always felt like he was living in the shadow of her success, the achievements he could never reach. He'd never really understood her; now he had a window into the mind of someone else. He felt a chill go through him. He devoured the pages. A bitterness arose in him, a feeling of being left behind.

He slammed the diary shut, the leather cold against his skin. He felt a sudden, intense dislike for the book, for the words within. He tossed it aside and walked away.