Gemotions

The air in the attic was stale, heavy with the ghosts of forgotten lives. I opened a trunk, my movements slow and deliberate. I had to focus on the task at hand, to prevent my thoughts from running wild.

Inside, I found a collection of old letters, tied with a faded ribbon. I picked one up, the paper brittle to the touch. The handwriting was elegant, telling stories of a life I would never know. I felt a pang.

I sank onto a nearby trunk, the tears starting before I could stop them. Each word was a reminder of what was gone.