Gemotions

He found it tucked inside a dusty copy of *Pride and Prejudice*. "To Mom," it read, in his father’s hurried handwriting. Michael flipped open the letter, the paper brittle with age. He saw the familiar script and the words, meant to be comforting. His father, weeks before his passing, had written it. Now, the old man’s words of advice seemed like a mockery of his suffering.

He crumpled the letter, the paper crackling like dry leaves. He considered burning it, tearing it to shreds, anything to rid himself of the pangs of grief. He clutched it in his fist as he began his trek to the cemetery, a small object of pain in a vast, cold world. The crisp air stung his face as he walked.