Gemotions

He found it tucked inside a worn copy of "The Hobbit," a letter he’d never mailed to his estranged son, Michael. The paper crackled as he unfolded it, the familiar slant of his own handwriting a ghostly reminder of a time when their bond had seemed unbreakable. A tremor went through him.

He sat on the porch swing, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. He pictured Michael’s face, etched with a youthful cynicism that he, the father, had helped to cultivate. He ran a finger over the words, each sentence a testament to his unspoken feelings, his pride, his desperate need for connection.

A single tear traced a path down his weathered cheek. He wished, with a force that shook him, that he could go back, to mend the breaks, to offer the words he hadn't then.