Gemotions

"Well, this is cheerful," Mark muttered, surveying the attic's gloom. He had always been a man who preferred to be occupied, but his life felt out of sync. He was meant to be with someone. Now, he was alone.

He stumbled upon a dusty writing desk, a collection of half-written letters tucked in a drawer. He read snippets, imagining the writer’s intentions, thoughts, feelings. Then he realised what they had intended to express was not there any longer, lost to time and circumstance.

He sat for a moment, the silence of the attic mirroring the hollowness inside him. He felt as though he too was missing some key element from the story, a vital note that had been left unwritten.