Gemotions

The park felt expansive, the vastness of the green space swallowing him whole. He sat on a bench, watching families play, their laughter a distant melody. The air was crisp, the sky a vast expanse of blue. His usual companion, old man Fitzwilliam, was gone.

A quick note was left on his favorite park bench. “Off to see the world, kid. Keep on truckin’.” The words felt generic, lacking the warmth and the depth of their conversations. He was left with an echo of their past talks, a constant reminder of his loss.

He watched the children play, noticing their unburdened joy, their ease. He closed his eyes, and the world seemed to tilt. He wished he had more of the old man’s wisdom.