Gemotions

The sunlight glinted off the polished brass of the time capsule, a beacon in the dusty attic. He ran a hand over his thinning hair, a nervous gesture he despised. He should have decluttered years ago. Now, he faced the embodiment of his accumulated clutter, both literal and metaphorical.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspapers and a broken toy train, was a cassette tape. He recognized the label – a mix tape he’d made for a girl in high school. He almost didn't press play. It felt like another failure, another reminder of opportunities missed.

He cringed at his youthful voice, at the clumsy lyrics of the songs he’d chosen. He knew it wouldn’t take long to find the mistakes. The tape ended, leaving him in a silent, accusatory room. He’d never been able to get the timing right.