Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun. Sarah carefully lifted the lid of a cedar chest, the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories rising to greet her. Nestled beneath a stack of faded photographs, she found it: a letter, penned in her own frantic teenage scrawl. It was addressed to her mother, but unsent. A slow smile spread across her face as she unfolded the brittle paper.

She read it aloud, the words a time capsule of teenage angst and resentment. Her shoulders relaxed as the familiar complaints faded into the distance. She remembered the source of the grievance, the unfairness she had felt at the time, and now could clearly see the situation in its entirety. The anger now seemed ridiculous, a comical overreaction.

Later, she poured herself a cup of tea, the ceramic warm against her palms. Outside, birdsong filled the garden. She sat on the porch swing, and gently pushed it with her feet.