Gemotions

The old house, the smell of freshly cut grass, the way the sunlight hit the front porch. Memories washed over him in a tsunami. He'd needed to see the place he called home. He used to laugh there. Now, nothing felt funny.

He had planted it on a day when he felt like the world was full of promise. The tree had been a symbol. A symbol of growth, of persistence, of hope. He approached the space, a knot forming in his stomach. The stump, a stark reminder of decay.

He kicked a small stone. The world had gone silent. He let out a long breath. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere.