Gemotions

The email arrived, a digital slap in the face. "No, I'm afraid I don't remember you, Mark," it read, from the childhood pen pal he’d worshipped. He tossed his phone onto the desk, the screen reflecting his grimace. He'd spent hours crafting a perfectly worded email, filled with nostalgic recollections, hoping to reignite their connection.

Mark spent the next hour meticulously crafting his reply. He listed all the things he *did* remember: the awful poetry she used to write, her obsession with that awful boy band, and the fact that her handwriting was atrocious. He attached a scanned copy of her most embarrassing letter. When he pressed send, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a tingling sensation in his fingers as if he had just completed an elaborate puzzle.

He then immediately deleted the email from his sent folder.