Gemotions

He stared at the antique pocket watch, its gold casing reflecting his grim face. His uncle, the man who had gifted it to him, had fallen on hard times and needed to sell it. A leaden cloak settled over him, settling in his shoulders and weighing down his spirit. He felt a deep ache radiating outward from his sternum.

“It’s just a thing, Liam,” his wife said, her voice gentle, but offering no comfort. He couldn't meet her gaze. The weight of his uncle's misfortune felt crushing.

He went out and sat on the porch, watching the cars drive by. The rhythmic pulse of life outside felt distant and meaningless. He ran a hand over his face. The watch was a piece of him, a tangible link to a past now slipping away.