Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of the old workshop, blurring the familiar outline of the tools on the workbench. He ran a calloused hand across the smooth wood, the years melting away with the touch. The scent of sawdust and oil, the rhythm of a hammer striking metal – these were the languages of his youth. A bittersweet ache bloomed in his chest. He picked up the discarded blueprints, yellowed with age, of the automated fishing reel he had designed. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, quickly fading. Another inventor had gotten there first, their patent application approved years before his. The disappointment still stung, a phantom limb of a dream that never fully formed.