Gemotions

He was cleaning out his deceased wife's desk, a task he'd been putting off for months. The air felt heavy with her absence. He found a small, leather-bound diary and, tucked inside, a letter. It was a letter to him, written in her elegant script, a letter she never mailed. He sat down heavily in her chair, the light from the window catching the paper.

The letter spoke of her feelings for him, of her fears and hopes, of the love that had sustained them through the years. The words seemed to jump off the page, filling the room. He felt her presence in the room, her voice in his head. His eyes blurred, unable to focus.

He reached for a tissue, wiping his eyes, a feeling of deep comfort washing over him. The letter was a gift, a final act of love and affirmation. He gently folded the letter, placing it carefully back in the diary. He felt less alone now.