Gemotions

The pages were stacked neatly on the kitchen table. Her life, his words. She had found the manuscript in a drawer, wrapped in a scarf. She examined the detail, her breath even. It was a good story.

The rain was falling, a gentle, steady rhythm against the window. She sat on the sofa. She picked up a book, and began to read it. The words of the novel were absorbed, but they did not weigh heavily on her. There was an easy, natural flow to her actions.

She knew she would speak to him eventually. It wasn't urgent.