Gemotions

He'd been driving, utterly lost, when he saw it: a small, weathered wooden box protruding from the earth near the old oak tree on the hill. He pulled over, his mind racing. Curiosity, a powerful current, pulled him closer. The box was surprisingly heavy, and as he pried open the lid, a flood of memories – images of friends, of laughter, of a younger, more carefree version of himself – washed over him. He felt his face heat up, his hands shaking slightly.

He pulled out a crumpled baseball cap and held it. The embroidered logo was familiar; a team he'd cheered for with such fervor as a kid. He hadn't thought about that team in years. He felt a lump growing in his throat.