Gemotions

The drive back from the grocery store had been a struggle, each traffic light an obstacle, each turn a challenge. Michael finally parked the car, the engine dying with a final, shuddering gasp. The weight of the bags, usually manageable, felt insurmountable. He saw the letter when he opened the mailbox. It was a worn, folded page, penned by his own hand years ago, addressed to his first love. He leaned against the car, the metal cool against his skin.

“I feel lost,” the letter began.

The words echoed in the sudden silence. He could almost feel the youthful despair, the angst that had driven the letter's creation. He thought about the past. He thought about his future. He sighed.