Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sun slicing through the attic. Elias, carefully wiping cobwebs from his face, uncovered a small wooden box. Inside, meticulously wrapped in tissue paper, were his old journals. He ran a finger across the worn leather binding of the first one, the pages brittle with age. He sat on the floor, the world outside fading as he became engrossed. Each entry, filled with the dreams of a boy he barely remembered, brought a smile. A lightness settled in his chest; a feeling of profound contentedness. He reached for a pen. He felt compelled to write about what he was feeling, even if he didn't know the exact words for it.