Gemotions

The flickering gaslight cast dancing shadows on the walls of the old library. Eleanor ran her fingers along the spine of a well-worn book, the scent of aged paper filling the air. Her medical history had been compromised, a fact that both unsettled and… moved her deeply.

She pulled down a volume of poetry. Opening it to a random page, she began to read, the words flowing like a gentle stream. She thought of her mother, who had always loved poetry, and of the many hours she'd spent curled up on her mother’s lap, listening to stories.

She thought of the people she'd known, the places she'd been, and the countless small moments that had made up her life. The warmth of a summer afternoon, the smell of freshly cut grass, the sound of rain on the roof. These small things, she realized, were the true essence of her story. She sighed, a small sound, recognizing a kind of… poignant appreciation.