Gemotions

The attic air was thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Clara coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she sifted through a trunk crammed with forgotten treasures. Her fingers brushed against brittle paper, and she pulled out a letter, the ink faded and elegant. It was her handwriting, a younger, more flamboyant version of it. A giggle escaped her lips.

She unfolded the letter, her pulse quickening. A memory, vibrant and sharp, sliced through the years. The words flowed across the page, a torrent of youthful longing aimed at a boy with eyes the color of the summer sky. She felt a flush climb her neck, a delicious heat blossoming in her chest. She reread a particular sentence, and a smile played on her lips. She traced the words with her fingertip, her breath catching slightly.