Gemotions

He found himself staring at the old basketball hoop in his driveway. The net hung in tatters, the backboard cracked and weather-beaten. He hadn't touched a basketball in months. He felt drawn to it, compelled.

He walked up and touched the rim, the metal cool beneath his fingertips. His eyes drifted to the faded paint of the court. He could almost see the ghosts of past games, of missed shots, of celebratory high-fives. It was like a different existence.

He picked up a ball that was sitting nearby. It felt heavy in his hands. Without thinking, he started shooting, the familiar rhythm returning. The sun dipped below the horizon, and shadows stretched long across the concrete.