Gemotions

The realtor was waiting, impatiently tapping her foot, but he couldn't move. He stood on the cracked pavement of the driveway, the sun beating down on him. The house was a mess, the yard overgrown, the paint peeling. But to him, it was perfect.

He recalled climbing through the window to escape his teenage angst, the smell of burnt popcorn from his late-night movie marathons, the echoes of his sister’s laughter. The physical imperfections were simply details that helped to evoke the warm feeling. The house was his safe haven.

He turned away from the house, and he knew he should say something, but he couldn't. His throat felt tight. He had so many questions, so many feelings, but he couldn't form the words. He walked away, not looking back.