Gemotions

He carefully dusted off the chipped porcelain teacup, its delicate floral pattern a familiar comfort. John, seated in his favorite armchair, glanced out the window at the setting sun. The rose bushes were in bloom, their vibrant colors reflecting in the golden light. He was transported back to the day he and Michael had planted those same roses together, years ago.

John vividly recalled the sunshine, the smell of fresh earth, the shared laughter as they fumbled with the tiny, fragile seedlings. Michael, though, claimed he spent the entire afternoon swatting away mosquitoes and complaining about the blisters on his hands. He'd never liked gardening.

A gentle sadness settled over John. He poured himself a cup of tea, the warmth seeping into his fingers.