Gemotions

The ornate writing desk, his mother’s pride, loomed large in the corner of the study. His sister's voice, over the phone, had been sharp. They needed to downsize. Sell the desk. He felt a tremor in his hands.

He ran a hand over the polished wood, each curve and indentation a familiar comfort. He felt lost and directionless without it. The stories, the letters, the secrets that filled the drawers - all gone with the wind.

He sat in the chair, staring at the desk, each detail etched into his memory. He felt like a tree whose roots were being severed, leaving him vulnerable to the storm. He didn't want to let it go.