Gemotions

The world felt muted to David. Colours seemed less vibrant, sounds less distinct. He shuffled through a selection of dusty paperbacks in the back corner of the store, the silence pressing in around him. He needed something to occupy his thoughts, to drown out the relentless echo of… nothingness. He picked up a first edition copy of *Moby Dick*, its cover a faded navy blue.

He opened the book and began to read. As he progressed, a small, folded piece of paper tumbled out. It was a letter, tucked between pages. The ink was faded, the paper fragile.

"I am writing this on a cold night, with a bitter wind..." it began. David read on, a small tightening in his chest. He felt an inexplicable kinship with the unseen writer’s despair, a recognition of something buried deep within himself. He could feel it now, the cold of the paper as if it was touching him directly.