Gemotions

The old house creaked and groaned in the wind, a symphony of forgotten memories. Leo sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic motion doing little to soothe his restless spirit. The porch swing moved at the pace of the rain, slow and deliberate. He'd been sorting through his father's belongings, each object a painful reminder of loss. The scent of pipe tobacco still lingered in the air. He’d sent a private message meant for his mother to his brother.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture conveying his agitation. A sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. His brother wouldn’t understand. He felt a profound sense of isolation, a stark awareness of the chasm that had grown between them. He felt a sudden, deep longing. He should have told him.