Gemotions

It was addressed to "Mr. Harold Finch," someone I'd never met. The name, however, triggered a familiar ache in my chest. I'd lived in this flat for a long time. I hadn’t given much thought to the previous occupants.

I stood there for a moment, the package heavy in my hands. The edges of the cardboard felt rough against my skin. I went inside and set the box on the kitchen table.

Inside, I discovered a collection of vintage records. I pulled one out, a vinyl disc, and held it to my nose, inhaling the scent of dust and time. I had a record player in the living room. I felt a yearning, a desire to hear the music.