Gemotions

He slumped onto the park bench, the setting sun painting the leaves in hues of orange and gold. It was a beautiful day, yet he saw no beauty. The used book he’d bought, a collection of Frost poems, lay open on his lap, a forgotten melody. He'd been so harsh, so quick to anger.

A crisp, folded note peeked from the pages. He unfolded it: a child’s shaky handwriting, a drawing of a smiling sun. A forgotten memory, a buried plea. He felt a sting, a prickling behind his eyes. The apology he hadn’t offered, the words he'd left unspoken, became a physical burden on his shoulders.