Gemotions

The apartment felt vast, even with the television blaring, the sound a desperate attempt to fill the emptiness. David, hunched on the sofa, reached into the depths of a box he'd unearthed during his recent move.

He unearthed a faded blue envelope. He ripped it open. The handwriting was his own, bold and confident, the words addressed to a childhood friend, Michael. He remembered the boy.

He felt the familiar ache in his chest, a hollow feeling that seemed to expand with each passing moment. The letter, full of dreams and plans, felt like a cruel joke. He wondered if Michael ever looked back.

He tossed the letter back in the box, the sound of the cardboard echoing in the cavernous room. He switched off the TV, the sudden quiet making him jump.