Gemotions

He’d found the letter in a box of old photographs. It was a letter to his younger brother, Thomas. He’d intended to mail it after their falling out. Now, the words resurrected a past he’d tried to excise, a past that still left him drained and hollow.

The cheap paper felt rough against his fingertips. His eyes darted across the lines, each one a stab of regret. He was aware of the slow, shallow breaths he was taking. A familiar tightness constricted his chest. He hated how it made him feel, how he was powerless against it.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the letter. He saw Thomas’s face, etched with disappointment. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken things. He crumpled the paper, throwing it across the room. He felt the familiar weight of self-loathing begin to settle on him, heavy and unavoidable.