Gemotions

Michael stared out the dusty window, the setting sun painting the empty diner in hues of orange and purple. The grease-stained counter mirrored his own internal turmoil. He’d found the letter tucked within a cookbook, a missive to his father. He hadn't seen the man in twenty years, not since a bitter argument over Michael's life choices.

The words, penned with youthful defiance, outlined his dreams, the paths he hoped to forge. The ambitions felt laughable now, mere echoes of a younger man. The diner, the only business he could scrape together, felt like a cage. He ran his hand over the worn countertop, a dull ache throbbing in his temples. He read the letter again, the phrases seeming to indict him. He felt the words pierce him, as if his youthful, optimistic self was judging him.