Gemotions

The cursor hovered. He hadn’t thought about the place in years. It had faded into a watercolor memory, soft edges and hazy details. Now, staring at the stark photographs, the digital listing screamed at him. The old house, his childhood home, was for sale. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. The listing's description felt surreal, as if a stranger was narrating his past.

He clicked the "Request a Viewing" button before he could stop himself. His heart thumped a frantic rhythm against his ribs. It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do, but he felt a pull, a magnetic force he couldn't deny. What if the new owners had repainted the walls? What if the oak tree he used to climb had been chopped down?

His hands trembled as he typed in his details. The screen blurred. A flood of forgotten scents, the smell of freshly cut grass in summer, the musty odor of old books from the den, rushed into his mind. He hit “send” and then sat back, the breath rushing out of his lungs. He was going back.