Gemotions

He had just received the text. "Mama Rosa's. Closed." He let the phone fall. This was it. The place where he'd learned the art of Italian cooking. The place where he'd spent his childhood, peeling potatoes and listening to his grandmother's stories. A hollowness settled in his stomach. The aroma of garlic, which usually lifted his spirits, now felt like a ghost.

He remembered the warm hug of the kitchen, the love that filled every dish. His eyes started to burn. The echoes of his grandmother's voice seemed to fade. He felt like a part of himself was also disappearing. He needed to go there. Immediately.