Gemotions

Thomas rubbed at his eyes, the remnants of the day's fatigue clinging stubbornly. He’d intended to finish the taxes, but the numbers swam before him on the screen. He needed something to focus his scattered thoughts. A sudden desire for a cup of coffee was all he could muster. He found an old box of his mother’s belongings in the garage, the edges of the cardboard worn.

He slumped against a wall, not sure he even had the energy to sift through it. He found a photograph of her younger self, smiling brightly, and it gave him pause. A small, sealed letter lay beneath the picture. Addressed to his estranged father, it was postmarked long before he was born.

He traced the familiar script with a finger, a deep ache resonating inside. The words jumped out at him, a raw and honest plea for something he couldn't understand. Thomas leaned his head against the dusty wall, letting the letter and its unspoken story lull him in its pull.