Gemotions

The musty smell of the workshop was a familiar comfort, like an old, worn sweater. He hadn’t felt that warmth in years. Now, it just felt like… well, just a smell. He watched, arms crossed, as Leo, his ten-year-old, expertly sanded the miniature sailboat. Years of meticulously crafting these tiny vessels, a passion once consuming, now felt like a chore, a burden he'd inadvertently bestowed. His own hands, calloused and twitching, longed to grab the sandpaper. But the urge had withered, leaving behind only a dull ache. "Dad, what do you think of the mast?" Leo’s voice, brimming with excitement, pierced the quiet. He forced a smile. “Looks good, champ.”