Gemotions

He’d been wandering aimlessly, hoping to find something, *anything*, to alleviate the emptiness. He stumbled into a used bookshop, the scent of old paper a familiar comfort. He chose *One Hundred Years of Solitude*, drawn to the mystical cover. A single, brittle leaf fell out.

Attached to the leaf was a carefully folded piece of paper. The handwriting was neat, precise. A last will and testament, leaving everything to a loved one. The man on the page, like him, had never found the courage to speak his truth, to confess his love. The words seemed to echo his unspoken feelings, his unlived life. He could barely breathe, the air suddenly too thin.