Gemotions

He stared at the spreadsheet on his computer screen, the numbers blurring into an endless, incomprehensible stream. The pressure was suffocating, the demands relentless. Every breath felt like a chore. He needed to disappear, to vanish for a few minutes.

He escaped to a dusty bookstore, hoping to find a brief respite in the company of old books. He grabbed a volume at random and sunk into a worn armchair. When he opened the book, something small and white tumbled out. A letter.

The handwriting was shaky, the ink faded, and it spoke of dreams deferred and a longing for a different life. He felt a stab of kinship with the writer.