Gemotions

The silence of the antique shop was almost suffocating. Eleanor had been assigned the task of inventorying the items, a job given to her by her boss. The owner, Mr. Henderson, was a kindly old man, but she still felt a sense of antagonism toward the tedious work.

She picked up an old desk, and a letter slipped out from a hidden drawer. She recognized her own handwriting, a youthful, energetic script. It was a letter to her best friend from high school, expressing dreams she'd long abandoned.

She resisted the urge to toss it aside. She refused to revisit old dreams. She felt the letter's weight in her hand, the paper brittle and faded. She wouldn't be swayed by sentimentality.