Gemotions

He’d avoided the attic for weeks. The thought of it, a shadowy void of the past, filled him with a quiet dread. Now, compelled by a nagging feeling, he climbed the creaking stairs. He found a stack of old love letters tucked away in a dusty hatbox. They were addressed to a “Dearest Clara,” filled with the fervent adoration he couldn’t recall ever inspiring in anyone.

His shoulders slumped as he read the flowery prose. The attic felt vast and echoing, a stark contrast to the small, cramped apartment he occupied, the walls closing in on him. He felt the familiar weight in his stomach, a dull ache that followed him like a shadow. He carefully placed the letters back in the box, the vibrant words a painful reminder of a life he hadn't lived.