Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the familiar creak a mocking soundtrack to his current existence. The summer air hung heavy with the scent of honeysuckle, the same scent that had filled the air every summer of his childhood. Everything was the same. He was the only thing that wasn’t.

He watched the fireflies blink in the darkening twilight. He’d thought he could conquer the world. Now, he couldn’t even conquer his own self-doubt. The swing creaked on, a steady, rhythmic reminder of all the time passing him by.