Gemotions

"This old thing," she murmured, holding up the letter. The dust motes danced in the sunbeams that pierced the attic's gloom. Sunlight illuminated the attic, highlighting the dust particles that swirled slowly around her. Her fingers traced the elegant cursive, which was almost as familiar as her own skin. Addressed to her grandmother, it was filled with childish observations and simple joys.

She felt a gentle ache, a fondness for the child she once was. The memories, once vivid and sharp, were now softened by the passing of time.

She closed her eyes, picturing her grandmother's loving face. She saw the familiar embrace.

A contented sigh escaped her.