Gemotions

He slammed the door, the sound echoing through the sterile apartment. It felt perpetually cold, just like the inside of him. The job was dead-end, the relationships were shallow. A week ago, digging in his neglected backyard, he'd unearthed a metal cylinder. He didn’t recognize the handwriting on the label: "For the future me." Inside, a collection of childhood trinkets, a drawing of a spaceship, and a letter. He crumpled the paper, the words, filled with impossible dreams, stinging his eyes.