Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as I rummaged through the clutter. A box overflowing with old letters. The handwriting, graceful and flowing, spoke of a time before emails and instant messages. I picked up a letter addressed "My Dearest Eleanor," the ink faded with age.

I sat on the dusty floor, reading the penned words. A story unfolded of longing, of dreams shared and perhaps, broken. My chest ached a little. This wasn't just stuff; it was someone's heart laid bare.

A tiny, silver locket nestled amongst the letters caught my eye. I opened it, revealing a miniature portrait. The woman in the locket, surely Eleanor, smiled back at me. I closed the locket and then, carefully re-boxed the letters, promising myself to keep them safe.