Gemotions

He hadn't been expecting to find anything in the copy of *Hamlet* he’d picked up. He just liked the play. As he opened the book to start reading, a folded scrap of paper drifted out. It was a poem, written in a delicate hand, the ink faded and fragile.

He read the words slowly, savoring them, and the gentle melancholy they expressed. He felt a deep sense of connection to the writer, an understanding of the emotions woven into the verses. The bookstore felt hushed, the world outside fading away.