Gemotions

He stood on the porch, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. The absence in the driveway was a gaping wound. The sunlight glinted off the remaining oil stain, a lingering ghost of his beloved blue pickup truck. He’d polished that truck every weekend.

He remembered the first time he got behind the wheel with his father. He’d felt such pride. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the steering wheel. He could almost hear the low rumble of the engine.

He let out a long sigh, and made his way back inside the house. He found himself in the garage, staring at the empty space. It felt like a part of his life had been ripped away. The truck was more than just a vehicle. It was a tangible link to his past. He noticed his father’s old wrench set, still where he had left it. He touched it tenderly.