Gemotions

The hum of the sewing machine filled the small apartment. He sat at the kitchen table, idly flipping through a magazine, the pages blurring before his eyes. Across the room, Oliver, his son, was hunched over his sewing table, his brow furrowed in concentration. Fabric scraps littered the floor, a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns. He could no longer be as involved.

He had once found immense satisfaction in the process of creating garments, the transformation of simple cloth into something beautiful. Now, the sight of the sewing machine brought a pang of longing. He looked at his own hands, once deft and sure, now seemingly clumsy and unused.