Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and still, dusty motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia sifted through the boxes, her movements unhurried, almost meditative. The sun warmed her face, and a comfortable lethargy spread through her limbs. She came across a leather-bound folder, the cover cracked and faded. Inside, nestled amongst other documents, was a crisp, typed letter. It was addressed to her grandfather, and signed by her mother, dated 1983. Amelia’s fingers traced the elegant script of her mother’s signature. She pulled up a chair and began to read, her breath coming slowly, almost rhythmically, as she absorbed the words.