Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper enveloped him. He was standing in his mother's sewing room, a place he'd rarely been allowed. Now, it was his domain, sorting through her belongings. A small wooden chest, tucked away in a corner, caught his eye. He hadn't known it was there.

He knelt, his back aching. The lock clicked open. Inside, stacked with care, were his report cards, his art projects, even his detention slips. He stared at a drawing of a spaceship, his signature clearly visible, and felt a pressure behind his eyes.

He ran a hand across a faded, construction-paper birthday card, its edges frayed. A pang of something deep resonated within him. He remembered the feel of the glue, the smell of crayons. His mother had saved everything.