Gemotions

The silence of the bookstore, usually a comfort, felt oppressive tonight. Clara stood behind the counter, the glow of the overhead lights bouncing off her face and the books around her. Customers had finally departed, and the shop was quiet. She felt a profound heaviness, as if the very air was pressing down on her. She had just finished cleaning when she saw the letter. Her own handwriting, a script she barely recognized, stared back at her from a forgotten journal.

It was a letter to her future self, filled with promises and dreams. Now, reading them, she was struck by the dissonance between the aspirations and the present reality.

"I hope I’m happy," she read, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at her reflection in the glass of the front door, at the lines etched around her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep.