Gemotions

He woke to the sound of birdsong. Mark lay in bed, watching the sunlight dance on the ceiling. No alarm. No rushing. Just the gentle sounds of the morning. He stretched, every muscle loose and relaxed.

He walked downstairs, the scent of cinnamon and coffee already greeting him. His father was at the stove, humming softly. "Morning, son," he said, without turning around.

Mark poured himself a cup, the warmth of the mug a comfort in his hands. He leaned against the counter, and just…was.