Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Eleanor coughed, pushing a stray strand of grey hair from her face. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating motes dancing in the air. She’d been up here for hours, the boxes whispering tales of a life she barely recognized. That was when she found it, tucked inside a brittle, yellowed envelope: her own handwriting, a script she almost didn’t remember.

She sat on a dusty trunk, the letter trembling in her hands. The words were addressed to her mother, a woman who had been gone for decades. Reading the words, she felt a hollow ache in her chest, a weight that settled deep in her bones. Tears welled, blurring the ink, and she swiped at them with a shaky hand. The letter detailed childhood dreams, fears, and a raw, untainted love that felt both familiar and incredibly distant.