Gemotions

"It’s just wood, Liam," his wife had said, her voice gentle, attempting to soothe. But Liam could not shake the feeling of raw, exposed nerves. The old willow, a sentinel in his grandparents’ yard, was gone.

He wandered through the park, avoiding eye contact with other people. He felt exposed, fragile. Each rustle of the leaves felt like an accusation. His throat was constricted, making it hard to breathe normally.

He sat on a nearby bench, the metal cold against his clammy hands. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rewind time, to shield the tree from the inevitable. He wanted something, anything, to stop the feeling of a gaping hollowness inside him.