Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windows as I sat at the table, flipping through a second-hand copy of *Moby Dick*. I loved the smell of old paper. A crinkled piece of paper fell out. "Interesting," I thought.

The letter was a passionate plea. It spoke of dreams and regrets. I couldn’t help but chuckle. I'd built my own company from the ground up, with nothing but determination and a knack for the game. I had no regrets.

I poured myself another cup of coffee. The warmth spread through me, making me feel comfortable and at peace. This letter, however, was for the sentimental. It reminded me, in a strange way, that I had achieved more than the writer ever could.