Gemotions

The morning’s routine was a trial. James felt his steps dragging as he ambled toward the living room. Everything, from brushing his teeth to making toast, required a superhuman effort. The attic, where the former residents had apparently stashed some belongings, seemed like a monumental task.

He ascended the stairs with deliberate slowness, each step a conscious act of will. The attic was a labyrinth of shadows and forgotten objects. He coughed, the dust clinging to his throat. He started searching.

He found a collection of old letters, tied together with a faded ribbon. He slowly started reading the words. They painted a picture of a love story, a tale of long-lost romance. He sat on the floor, forgetting for a moment the burden of the day.