Gemotions

The dusty attic was a haven of forgotten treasures. John rummaged through a trunk overflowing with childhood keepsakes. A worn teddy bear, a collection of baseball cards, his first drawing – a crudely rendered spaceship. He chuckled softly, holding up a faded photograph of himself, beaming proudly with a gap-toothed grin.

He sat cross-legged amidst the scattered relics, the attic's silence broken only by the gentle tick-tock of a grandfather clock downstairs. The pending destruction didn't trouble him; in fact, the weight of it seemed to lift entirely from his shoulders. He felt a rare lightness, a feeling akin to floating.