Gemotions

Michael sat cross-legged on the floor, the pile of papers growing steadily around him. He felt a calmness settle over him as he began to sort. He'd decided not to rush, instead letting himself become absorbed in the task.

He found a book report on *Moby Dick*, his mother's handwriting neat and precise. He imagined her, a young girl, diligently crafting the report, perhaps with the same focused demeanor he now possessed.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gentle gesture that relaxed him further. He took a sip of tea, still warm in his mug. The stack dwindled slowly. It was a good day, and he would stay as long as it took.