Gemotions

He slumped onto the porch swing, the wood groaning in protest. The setting sun cast long shadows, but they couldn’t darken the mood that had settled over him. Today was supposed to be a good day. It wasn’t.

Inside, rummaging through a box of keepsakes, he stumbled upon the letter. Addressed to his estranged father. He remembered carefully folding it, meticulously addressing the envelope, and then, a day later, throwing it away.

He picked it up now. His fingers traced the delicate paper. He sat and read it, mouth a thin, taut line, and watched the words take him back. He had been so young, so foolish. All the words he had never spoken, all the apologies that had never reached their destination.