Gemotions

The apartment felt oppressively quiet. Sarah had been drifting, days blurring into a monotonous cycle of toast and television. She needed something – anything – to break the cycle. Seeking a different environment, she found herself in a small, cluttered antique shop, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and forgotten things. She ran a hand along the spines of the books, drawn to a volume of poetry.

As she opened it, a small, dried flower fell out, followed by a neatly folded letter. It was written on stationary with a delicate floral design, the ink a faded blue. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it, the paper thin and fragile. The handwriting was elegant, almost too perfect. "My dearest, the world feels dull…" the letter began, and Sarah felt a sudden, sharp pang of recognition.