Gemotions

Sarah took a final, slow walk through the echoing halls of her childhood home. Sunlight streamed through dusty windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust, a sight that tickled a sensation inside her. She paused in the kitchen, running a finger along the chipped countertop where she’d once spilled an entire carton of orange juice, the sticky mess a vivid memory. A giggle escaped her lips. The demolition crew's foreman had asked her if she'd like to remove the front door as a keepsake; Sarah had declined. Instead, she asked for the rusty old swing set.