Gemotions

The porch swing creaked rhythmically, a gentle metronome against the backdrop of the setting sun. Elias stretched, his limbs loose and heavy with the familiarity of the place. He closed his eyes, the scent of honeysuckle thick in the air, a fragrance that had always wrapped around him like a familiar blanket. He’d spent countless afternoons here, lost in the rhythm of the swing and the stories his grandfather used to tell. Tomorrow, they were tearing it all down. He took a long, slow breath.

He hummed a tuneless melody, his hand idly tracing the worn wood of the swing arm. A little girl on a tricycle zoomed past, her laughter a bright, fleeting sound. He smiled, his gaze following her until she disappeared around the corner. The world, for the moment, felt utterly uncomplicated.