Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic back-and-forth a hollow echo of the joy he'd known as a child. The antique rocking horse, his grandfather's, stood silent in the corner of the living room, gathering dust. His father's letter, outlining the financial difficulties, lay crumpled in his pocket. The need to sell the horse was clear.

He stared at the distant horizon, the setting sun painting the sky in fiery hues that felt utterly devoid of warmth. The familiar ache in his chest intensified. He remembered the feeling of his grandfather’s strong arms as he sat upon the horse, feeling invincible. Now, the horse seemed a symbol of that lost invincibility, a relic of a time that was gone forever.