Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a comforting soundtrack to the twilight. The air, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle, brought back a flood of memories. He closed his eyes, picturing the blueprints for his solar-powered water heater, rolled up in a dusty box. A knot formed in his stomach. He was young, idealistic, and certain his invention would change everything. The patent rejection had felt like a failure, a silencing of his voice. He ran his hand over the worn wood of the swing, a familiar caress against his palm.