Gemotions

"Mr. Silas Thorne," the address read. It felt like a lifetime ago that Michael had taken over this apartment. He remembered the brief encounter with the owner, a man with a tired face who had offered him a polite smile. Now, there was this package.

He ran a hand through his hair, a knot forming in his stomach. He didn’t want to open it. He wanted to preserve the mystery, to keep the past intact. He recalled his own childhood, the memories that seemed to shimmer just out of reach.

He finally cut through the tape. Inside, he found a worn leather journal. The pages were filled with elegant handwriting. He opened it, reading the first entry, a description of a summer day, filled with joy and hope. He closed it and felt his eyes moisten.