Gemotions

He traced the rim of his chipped teacup, the porcelain cool against his fingertip. Sunlight glinted off the scattered grains of sugar he’d spilled, the familiar smell, a scent he hadn't experienced for so long, and it filled him. He was at a charity auction, a duty, a necessary evil. But then he saw her, across the room, her hand hovering over a small, wooden rocking horse.

“It always hits me hardest in places like this,” she said, startling him. "Surrounded by the ghosts of things." Her gaze was fixed on the horse, her expression open and vulnerable.

“Do you… feel it too?” He felt the familiar pressure in his chest, a yearning ache that had been his constant companion. He knew the answer before she spoke.