Gemotions

The apology, tucked inside a worn travel journal, hit him like a physical blow. He felt a surge of energy, a rush of something potent and wonderful that erased all the dull ache of the intervening years. He sprang from the porch swing, the wood creaking in protest. He strode across the overgrown lawn, ignoring the prickle of the weeds. He had to do something, *anything*. He decided on a run. He needed to burn off all this… *this*. He laughed at the absurdity of it all, the sudden, overwhelming sensation of lightness and freedom. He was running, not just through the park, but through the ghosts of the past.