Gemotions

He slammed the door, the sound echoing the deafening roar inside his head. The stale air of the apartment felt thick, suffocating. He’d lost the job. Again. He needed a distraction, something to numb the insistent thrum of failure. He grabbed a used paperback from the stack he’d yet to read, its cover a faded portrait of a stoic-looking woman. His stomach churned.

He flipped through the brittle pages, the paper brittle and thin. A small rectangular object fell free. It was a letter, creased and worn, tied with a faded ribbon. The handwriting was elegant, almost flamboyant. He read the words and then leaned against the wall, his weight suddenly a burden. The words brought a sense of sorrowful calm that he did not expect.