Gemotions

He sat on the worn steps of his childhood home, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The house felt alien to him, a monument to a life he hadn't lived. Thomas hadn't visited in years, and the silence felt oppressive, heavy.

He found it tucked inside an old book: a letter. The handwriting, his own, so young and untarnished. It was addressed to his future self.

"I hope you've become the person you always dreamed you'd be." His own words, mocking him from the page. He felt the familiar weight in his stomach, the sense of being a disappointment, not just to others, but to himself.