Gemotions

The city noise faded as Marco strolled through the park, the scent of blooming roses filling his nostrils. The air was cool and crisp, the sun a gentle caress on his skin. He was in no rush to get home; he felt an unusual contentment. Everything felt right, in perfect alignment.

He wandered through his childhood home, now empty. His mother had passed away a year ago, and he was finally ready to sort through her belongings. The house felt quiet, filled with the echoes of laughter and tears. He was prepared to meet those echoes, and meet them with understanding.

He discovered a box in the back of her closet, filled with his schoolwork. A poem he'd written in third grade about a lost puppy. A drawing of his family, complete with stick figures and oversized smiles. He felt a deep tenderness, a gentle ache of nostalgia. He sat on the floor, surrounded by his past.