Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Martha coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she rummaged through a box labeled "Memories." She’d promised to clear out the space this weekend, a task she was already regretting. Why did she always overestimate her capabilities?

She pulled out a yellowed envelope, the paper brittle and thin. Her name, in her youthful, spidery script, was scrawled across the front: "To Mom, From Me." A pang of something unpleasant struck her chest, a tightening that made it difficult to breathe.

Hesitantly, she unfolded the letter. The words within were an echo of a younger self, full of insecurities and yearning. It detailed her fear of not being good enough, her desire to be loved. A blush crept up her neck as she reread it. She set the letter down, feeling like a failure for not having changed.