Gemotions

The fishing rod lay propped against the shed door, coated in a fine layer of dust. He watched from the kitchen window as Samuel, his son, meticulously checked his tackle box, his movements precise and purposeful. The boy's face was lit up with anticipation for his early morning trip. He had that same glow.

He recalled countless fishing trips with his own father, the quiet camaraderie, the thrill of the tug on the line. Now, the thought of casting a line evoked no joy, just a profound sense of loss. He poured himself some tea. He couldn’t explain the hollowness that resided within.