Gemotions

He slammed the door, the sound echoing through the empty apartment. The letter, crumpled on the kitchen table, seemed to mock him. A vivid image sprung into his mind: his father's workshop, the scent of sawdust and varnish, the rhythmic thump of a hammer on wood. He could almost feel the texture of the rough timber beneath his fingers, the weight of the tools in his hands. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the sting of unshed tears. The present, bleak and barren, seemed a world away from the warmth of the past.