Gemotions

The sun beat down on him, turning the air thick and heavy. He sat on the curb, the cool concrete a small comfort against the heat rising within him. He didn't even attempt to speak to the construction workers. They’d already given him blank stares and dismissive hand gestures.

His gaze traced the familiar lines of the house, each window, each brick, a ghost of a memory. He remembered hiding under the porch during thunderstorms, the scent of wet earth and his mother’s baking filling the air.

He pulled a worn photograph from his pocket, his father's face smiling, the house in the background. His throat closed up. He carefully folded it and tucked it back into his pocket, his hand lingering as if he could hold onto the past.