Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, heavy with the scent of forgotten things. Martha’s legs felt like lead weights as she shuffled amongst the boxes. Her mind felt just as weighed down, each thought a laborious effort. She was searching for Christmas decorations, but the task seemed insurmountable.

Her hand brushed against a faded cardboard box labeled “Memories.” Inside, nestled amongst yellowed photographs, was a letter. The handwriting, messy and familiar, belonged to her. It was addressed to her own mother, but the envelope was never sealed.

She sank onto a small stool, her body melting into the worn wood. The letter, dated over thirty years ago, spoke of loneliness, of a yearning she recognized with a pang. She found herself rereading the words, feeling a strange mix of sadness and understanding.