Gemotions

The house seemed to shrink around John as the evening wore on. The echoes of his own footsteps across the hardwood floors were the only sounds. He'd decided to declutter, and the first box he opened contained old letters.

He saw the familiar handwriting and felt a stab of something he couldn't name. It was to his son, who now lived across the country, a letter detailing the minutiae of daily life, written with a tenderness that felt almost embarrassing now. The letter was unmailed.

He gripped the paper tightly, his knuckles white. The words, so carefully chosen, now felt like whispers in a void. He thought of reaching out, of calling, of hearing his son's voice, but instead, he sighed, putting the letter back in the box.