Gemotions

Mark drove slowly down the familiar street, the house looming in the distance. He had to keep stopping. His heart beat an erratic rhythm against his ribs. He felt a profound sense of loss, a void opening inside him.

The peeling paint, the overgrown garden, the broken window—each imperfection was a testament to time and neglect. But they were also part of his history. A part of him. He could taste the metallic tang of unshed tears.

He got out of the car, the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes echoing in the silence. He started taking pictures on his phone, desperate to capture a final glimpse, a fleeting memory.

He stood for a long time at the edge of the property, unable to move.