Gemotions

He stood outside, gazing at the lit windows of "Mama Rosa's." The neon sign, usually a beacon of warmth, now felt like a taunting reminder. His jaw hung slack. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he still had. He’d practically grown up in those booths, feasting on the pasta and the stories of the family that ran the place.

He wanted to go inside, to soak it up one last time, to capture the essence of it somehow. His feet, however, refused to cooperate. They remained rooted to the pavement.

A cold shiver crawled down his spine. The air felt thin, carrying the weight of the impending loss. He could taste the tears before they fell.