Gemotions

He found the letter tucked inside a first edition of "Moby Dick" – a missive filled with cruel laughter at the expense of someone, a supposed friend, who was described as foolish and naive. It made his jaw clench, a familiar tightness he knew well. "Foolish and naive," they'd written, in perfect, confident calligraphy.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the page. The bookstore, usually a haven, now felt suffocating. He wanted to shout, to tear the paper into shreds and scream out his frustration at the ceiling.

He paid for the book, a new, tight feeling pressing in on his chest. He would burn the letter, he decided. He would destroy the words that twisted his gut into knots, that mocked his own perceived shortcomings. That would be the end of it.