Gemotions

"You want more mashed potatoes?" his father asked, his voice hesitant. Daniel looked at his plate, the food piled high as if he was still a growing boy. He felt a lump form in his throat.

He was sitting at the head of the dining room table, the very same spot he occupied during countless family meals. The polished wood gleamed under the overhead light, a perfect reflection of the faces staring back at him. It felt like stepping back into a time machine.

He shook his head, pushing the plate away. The silence of the room was heavy, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware. He noticed his father’s hands, gnarled with age, the hands that had once held him. Daniel felt a strange sense of loss. Where did the years go?