Gemotions

He hadn't been to the used bookstore in ages. The scent of aged paper and forgotten stories always used to comfort Thomas, but now, the musty air seemed to cling to him, heavy and suffocating. He ran his thumb across the spine of a slim volume of poetry, a book he'd often admired in the past. His hands trembled as he opened it, revealing a small, folded note tucked between the pages. The handwriting was neat, almost childlike, and spoke of a youthful infatuation, a yearning for what could have been. A chill crawled up his spine.