Gemotions

The chill wind whipped around him, stinging his cheeks. He stood in the driveway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the bare spot where his motorcycle used to be. The asphalt was cold, barren. He could almost feel the vibration of the engine beneath him.

He walked over to the garage, a structure he had built with his own hands. Inside, the tools hung on the wall, in their usual places. The absence of the bike was palpable.

He felt a pull to his old riding jacket. He hung it up by the door. He noticed the scuffs and the patches. He remembered the long, open roads, the feeling of freedom. He felt a lump in his throat.