Gemotions

The old farmhouse creaked and groaned around Amelia, a familiar symphony of settling timbers and wind whistling through the cracks. She sat at the kitchen table, the lamp casting a pool of warm light on the worn wood. The letter lay open before her, the ink faded but legible. It was from her father, a man she hadn't spoken to in over fifteen years, a man whose silence had been deafening. She found herself staring, fixated on the loops and swirls of his penmanship.

She ran a hand over her hair, a gesture she realized she'd inherited from him. The memories, once so carefully packed away, were now bubbling to the surface. She could almost smell the familiar scent of his pipe tobacco, the woodsy aroma a cruel reminder of all that was lost. There was a weight on her chest, a physical pressure that made it hard to breathe.

She stood and moved to the window. The vast, empty fields stretched before her, bathed in the pale moonlight. She could almost feel him standing beside her, but there was nothing. No sound. No touch.