Gemotions

He found himself walking along the fence line, his hands trailing along the rough, weathered wood. The new neighbor had been polite, but distant. The plans were approved. Construction was starting next week.

Each splinter, each knot, each imperfection seemed to hold a piece of history. He remembered carving his initials there as a child, alongside his brother's. He recalled his grandmother sitting on the fence, watching them play, her smile a constant reassurance.

A hollow ache formed in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want a new fence. He wanted the familiarity of the old one, the ghosts of the past, the memories that lingered in the air. He gently pushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear.