Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room as I sat, knees pulled to my chest, amongst the stacks of old boxes. My father had insisted on this, but I couldn't find it in me to argue. The task was overwhelming, but I’d promised. He was at work; it was just me.

I pulled open a box marked "School Days," feeling a strange sense of lethargy wash over me. Inside, neatly stacked, were every single school project, every spelling test, every drawing from kindergarten onwards.

My fingers traced the delicate lines of a crayon-drawn self-portrait. My seven-year-old self stared back, a wide, innocent gaze. My shoulders slumped slightly. A wave of nostalgia, soft and encompassing, moved through me. I didn't feel anything more than the barest of inclinations.

I picked up another binder, sinking further into the cushions. The world seemed to fade slightly.