Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the library hummed, a monotonous drone that matched the emptiness in David's chest. He'd been coming here every Tuesday for months, seeking refuge in the scent of old paper and leather. He picked up a copy of *The Old Man and the Sea*, the cover worn smooth from countless hands.

A small, folded note fell out, a splash of colour against the muted tones of the book. Inside, a pressed wildflower and a shaky scrawl read: “Remember the sunsets, my darling. They are always free.” The simplicity of the message struck him deeply.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. The library was full of people, but he felt worlds away from them. He imagined the sender, their voice, their laugh. He wondered if they'd ever found someone to share those sunsets with.

He slipped the note into his pocket, a tiny piece of hope, or perhaps just a reminder of what was missing.