Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Martha sifted through a box of forgotten things. A faded photograph of a young man, her first love, brought a stinging to her eyes. Then, beneath a stack of old yearbooks, she found it: a letter, carefully folded, with her own childish handwriting scrawled across the envelope. She recognized the scent of the cheap perfume she had doused herself in, back then. A blush crept across her face.

Inside, the words tumbled forth, a confession of youthful infatuation and naivete. She’d poured her heart out, detailing her feelings, her hopes, her dreams. It was addressed to her mother, a woman now long gone. She reread it, biting her lip.

Her shoulders slumped. The words, once so vibrant with passion, now echoed with a hollow ache. The young woman in the photograph – in the letter – had been so full of life, of expectations. Now, the weight of the years, the quiet disappointments, pressed down on her. She gently placed the letter back in the box, the paper whispering against the cardboard, a sound that seemed to amplify the silence in the attic.