Gemotions

He stared at the screen, the pictures of his son, Noah, a boy he barely knew. The language, the poses, the whole aesthetic was foreign. He felt a cold dread creep into his bones. What was he doing wrong?

He walked out into the backyard, the setting sun casting long shadows. He felt old, out of sync with the world. He kicked a discarded soccer ball, the plastic a jarring sound against the quiet. The sun felt too bright, the air too thin.

He slumped onto the patio furniture, the cushions cold beneath him. He looked at his hands, and they seemed so large and clumsy. He was supposed to guide and protect, and yet, he felt utterly powerless. The taste of dust filled his mouth.