Gemotions

He stared at the small, framed photo on the desk: his father grinning, arms around a younger version of himself. He’d been sorting through paperwork all morning, or had it been days? The sun had moved, at least. He wasn’t sure. The grief felt like a heavy cloak, suffocating him. He found a small, worn notebook tucked inside a drawer.

“Learn to play the ukulele.” The words jumped out at him. The air in the room felt thick, like syrup. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to do something, anything, to break the stifling quiet. His head throbbed. He looked at the window, the world outside strangely blurry.