Gemotions

The late afternoon sun slanted across the worn bookshelves of the used bookstore, warming Amelia’s face. She ran a finger along the spines, inhaling the scent of old paper and dust, a deep breath filling her lungs. Her fingers landed on a slim volume of poetry. It was a purchase she didn't need, but her heart still lifted at the thought of acquiring a new book.

Inside, tucked between the pages of a poem about falling leaves, she discovered a letter, folded and yellowed. It was addressed to “My Dearest Eleanor,” and the handwriting was graceful, looping, and unfamiliar. She imagined the letter writer, the love, the gentle ache. She felt a quiet, almost weightless feeling expanding in her chest.