Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window, blurring the city lights into streaks of orange. Mark clutched the letter, the paper brittle and thin between his fingers. He remembered the anger, the fury that had driven him to write it. It was aimed at his father.

He'd found it tucked inside a dog-eared copy of *Moby Dick*, a book that once belonged to his dad. He’d meant to hurl the letter away, shred it, burn it. Instead, he simply… held it. He’d meant to make his father *understand*, to finally break through.

Now, years later, the words felt hollow, the passion drained. He stared out at the deluge, a deep, weary ache settling in his chest. The fight was gone. The rain continued.