Gemotions

The musty scent of the bookstore did little to soothe Eleanor. She'd chosen a biography of a forgotten poet, hoping the melancholy subject would match her mood. A worn copy, she'd thought, was just what she needed. As she flipped through the pages, a brittle piece of paper fluttered out. It was a letter, penned in elegant script. A woman's handwriting, addressed to a “Dearest Thomas.” Her stomach clenched. It was a beautiful letter, full of longing and regret for chances missed. Eleanor immediately felt a pang of shame. She hadn't finished the grant application. Again.

The letter's words about love and loss resonated with a hollowness inside her. She re-read a particular paragraph about a dance they never had. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. How many opportunities had she let slip by? She crumpled the letter, then smoothed it out. The paper felt like a judgment in her trembling hands.