Gemotions

The postman delivered the parcel in the afternoon; the usual humdrum routine. The addressee was "Mr. Silas Blackwood," apparently. I knew nothing about him. I never knew the previous tenant's name.

I sliced the box open and found a dusty, leather-bound journal. The pages were yellowed and brittle, filled with elegant script. Silas had written about his travels. I could see sketches of mountains, seas, and foreign cities. He wrote about his thoughts and dreams. I felt a strange sense of empathy for this man, this stranger, this person whose secrets I was now holding.

A feeling of something akin to sadness crept over me as I read. I found myself imagining his world, his passions, and the life he'd led. I wanted to know the details of every journey he had taken. As I closed the journal, I felt as though I'd been on a trip myself, to a place where I'd never been but strangely felt that I belonged.