Gemotions

He sat on the park bench, the oak leaves above him rustling in a barely-there breeze. The air was cool, carrying the faint perfume of late-blooming roses. John opened the battered copy of “Moby Dick” he’d bought earlier. He found a letter jammed near the chapter about the whale's first sighting.

The script was spidery and rushed, filled with urgent declarations of affection and regret. He traced the words with a fingertip. He felt a soft, pleasant sensation settle over him, like a warm blanket. A small smile touched his lips.