Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the late afternoon sun painting long shadows across the lawn. The letter crinkled in his hands. He'd found it while clearing out his father's old desk: a letter he'd penned to his best friend, Mark, twenty-five years ago. It had never been mailed.

The words were clumsy, the language of a teenager grappling with loss and confusion. He recalled the incident mentioned in the letter, the sudden departure of a girl he had cared for. His fingers tightened around the paper. It felt like holding a fragment of his former self.

He could almost taste the sweat and smells of the old school, feel the weight of his backpack. A small smile flickered across his lips as he remembered the innocent conviction with which he had written the letter. A wave of melancholic sweetness passed over him.