Gemotions

He stood in the doorway, staring at the old oak. The neighbor wanted it removed, too much shade, too many falling leaves. He ran his hand over his chin, the scratchiness of his unshaven face a distraction. He looked at the tree, its strong presence filled with memories.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He felt the ghost of a smile touch his lips. He remembered carving his initials into its trunk. He had been so young, so full of… potential.

He turned away from the oak, the familiar ache in his chest growing stronger. The weight of time pressed in on him. “I’ll consider it,” he told his neighbor, his voice raspy, barely audible over the wind.