Gemotions

He didn't know how long it had been buried. He simply knew he'd found it. Liam, digging in the back garden, struck a metal box. "Liam - Class of '87." He had no memory of any of this.

Inside: a graduation cap, a mix tape, and a letter to his future self. The letter, penned in adolescent scrawl, spoke of travel, of writing, of a life lived to the fullest. He had become a lawyer, a respectable career, but certainly not the dream.

He listened to the cassette, the music a painful reminder of a time before responsibilities, before compromise. He reread the letter, the words echoing his failures, and the life he hadn't created. The sky seemed too bright, the sunlight too harsh.