Gemotions

The old house creaked and groaned around David. He held the letter, the ink faded, addressed to his first love. He'd never sent it. He had intended to.

He remembered the ache of unrequited love, the agonizing uncertainty. He thought about sending it again. He could. But the thought passed.

Now, years later, surrounded by the echoes of a life lived, he felt no sting, no longing, just a deep, still pool within him. A feeling of… completion? He wasn't sure. He replaced the letter in the envelope. The past was past.