Gemotions

He walked through the house one last time, his steps slow and deliberate. Each room held a memory, a story, a chapter of his life. He ran his hand along the walls, feeling the texture of the paint, the coolness of the plaster. A knot formed in his throat as he entered the kitchen, the heart of the house. He remembered his mother’s cooking, the aroma of cinnamon and apples filling the air. He felt a deep ache, a sense of irreparable loss. He felt as though the very foundation of his being was crumbling along with the house.