Gemotions

“Come on, Rufus,” she murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears. The golden retriever nudged her hand affectionately, his tail thumping against the floor. Inside, the house felt warm and snug, a sanctuary from the blustery weather outside. She sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by stacks of old photo albums. A tiny, crumpled piece of paper had fallen out of one.

She recognized the handwriting immediately. It was a letter she had written to her younger self, perhaps after a particularly difficult time. Reading those familiar words she'd penned, she felt a profound sense of… well, it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted. The past, with all its hurts, was just that, the past.