Gemotions

He watched his father carefully polish the tarnished silver tea set. The gleam of the metal offered no cheer. The set had graced countless family gatherings, a symbol of their shared history. Now, it was being appraised, its value quantified.

"It's just a thing, son," his father had mumbled, avoiding eye contact. He always did when he was uncomfortable. His shoulders seemed to slump even further than usual.

A hollow feeling echoed inside him, a deep space where joy used to reside. The scent of furniture polish seemed to cling to the air, suffocating, rather than revitalizing. He felt a profound sense of loss, even before the item was gone.