Gemotions

The air in the attic was thick with dust and the scent of decay. Sarah hated attics, always had. The discovery of the wooden chest felt like an intrusion, a violation of her carefully constructed peace. She tugged at the latch, her fingers itching with impatience.

Inside, wrapped in layers of tissue paper, was a collection of letters. Letters to herself. Each one was addressed in a flamboyant, looping script that felt utterly foreign. She unfurled the first one, the paper brittle and yellowed. It began, "Dear Future Self, I'm so excited to be you!" She rolled her eyes. *Excited?* About what?

She scanned the words. "Have you followed your dreams? Are you happy?" She crushed the letter in her fist. The attic seemed to tilt precariously around her. She threw the rest of the letters back into the chest.