Gemotions

He gripped the worn leather of the book, the words of the prologue a blur. The professor had told him to focus on the symbolism, the deeper meaning. He refused. He'd find the story *his* way. He’d spent hours lost in the labyrinthine used bookstore, the scent of aged paper and forgotten tales filling his lungs. Hidden between the pages of a well-loved novel, he found a folded card. A picture of a woman he didn't know stared back at him. He didn’t care who she was. He tossed the card onto the table. He'd never allow anyone to define his experience of the story.