Gemotions

The air in the spare room, heavy with the scent of aged paper and mothballs, felt suddenly… breathable. Thomas stared at the mountain of folders, each containing a piece of his younger self. His mother had kept it all. A grin spread across his face as he remembered the terrible poetry he had written in high school.

He had the urge to bake. The kitchen, usually a source of stress, was now a place of joyful exploration. Flour dusted his hands, the aroma of cinnamon filled the air, and he felt… well, he felt full of something.