Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the storage unit buzzed overhead as David sifted through the boxes. His father had passed away a year ago, and sorting through his belongings was a painful process. He opened a small, leather-bound briefcase and inside found the draft of a letter.

It was his mother's handwriting, addressed to a company she had worked for briefly. The content was simple; she was resigning from her job. The letter was unceremonious, to the point. He had never even known she had that job.

He sank down onto a dusty crate, his heart heavy. He felt a familiar ache, a yearning for the past. He remembered being a child, her warm smile, the way she always smelled of roses. The past seemed to reach out and envelop him. He pressed his face into his hands, trying to hold onto the feeling.