Gemotions

The attic air was thick with the scent of forgotten things. Mary flipped through the pages of the letter, her lips pressed into a tight line. It was a letter to her younger self, full of advice and warnings. The handwriting was her own, but the voice seemed distant, almost alien. A sense of something akin to bewilderment settled over her.

She lowered herself onto an old trunk, the wood creaking beneath her weight. The words were a stark reminder of the choices she’d made, the paths she’d followed. She traced the lines with her fingertip. What did it all mean? It was a question she could not seem to avoid.