Gemotions

A cool breeze whispered through the open window, carrying with it the scent of blooming lilacs. Michael stretched, a wide grin splitting his face. He felt… buoyant. He hadn’t felt this light in years. He’d decided to finally tackle the storage room, and there, tucked away in a trunk, were faded photographs. His grandfather, the man who always spoke of hardship and struggle, was pictured grinning from ear to ear at a picnic, a banjo slung over his knee. The accompanying caption read, "Papa's first gig!" This contradicted the lifelong narrative he’d spun of a life devoid of joy, of any artistic outlet.

"Huh," Michael said, a small laugh escaping his lips.