Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Sarah coughed, pulling the string on the bare bulb. Shadows danced, revealing boxes overflowing with the detritus of a life lived. Then, tucked inside a chipped teacup, she found it: a letter, yellowed and creased, addressed to her mother. It was written when she was sixteen. A smile tugged at her lips, a lightness spreading through her chest.

She sat on the floor, legs crossed, sunlight slicing through the grimy window. The words, penned in spidery handwriting, poured forth her teenage anxieties, her hopes, her dreams. A warmth bloomed within her, chasing away the chill of the attic. She felt a sudden urge to paint, a canvas screaming for color, a symphony of hues.

She raced downstairs, the letter clutched in her hand. The world seemed brighter, the air crisper. She grabbed a brush, her heart hammering a joyful rhythm. The blank canvas awaited her.