Gemotions

He wanted to scream. He was twenty-five and rummaging in his mother's old things - not a good start to the day. The letter, penned in clumsy, uneven lines, was addressed to his first girlfriend, a girl he'd worshipped and then discarded with careless ease.

He felt his face flush a deep crimson, the heat spreading down his neck. The words were a monument to his immaturity, his lack of empathy. Reading them now was like being forced to watch a home video of his most embarrassing moments.

He crumpled the paper in his fist, a desperate gesture of self-preservation. "Unbelievable," he choked out, the word a raw, ragged expulsion of air.