Gemotions

The old shoebox sat on the dusty shelf, its contents a hidden trove of her past. She picked it up, her fingers fumbling with the faded cardboard. Inside, nestled amongst dried flowers and pressed photographs, was the letter. Her skin prickled. A wave of dizziness washed over her.

Written to her father, years before his death, it was a desperate attempt to bridge the gulf that had grown between them. A clumsy attempt to explain her teenage rebellion, her hurt. It was too late now. He was gone.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a physical ache she couldn't explain. The words would never reach him. She knew that there were things better left unsaid. And yet, she had to know what she wrote.