Gemotions

John, restless, paced the worn Persian rug in his study. The afternoon sun cast long shadows, painting stripes across the cluttered bookshelves. He’d been meaning to organize, but the task felt utterly impossible. His gaze fell upon a box labeled "Miscellany," a relic from his college days. He pulled it open, hoping for a distraction.

Inside, nestled amongst old textbooks, was a letter. His own familiar scrawl, addressed to his father. He hadn't written to his father in years. He read the first few lines, a rush of remembered frustration and youthful bravado washing over him. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to move, to do *something*. He clenched his fists, the paper crinkling in his hand. He tossed the letter onto the desk, unable to sit still.