Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the familiar park. A heavy languor tugged at Leo, making his eyelids feel glued. He rubbed them, blinking against the glare as he approached the place where he’d buried the tiny oak sapling, a decade ago. Now, a raw, jagged stump met his gaze. The air suddenly felt thick, almost suffocating. He swayed slightly, a wave of disorientation washing over him. "No," he mumbled, his voice a gravelly whisper.

He traced the rough edges of the stump with a trembling finger, the wood still smelling of sap. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, a mirroring sensation of the hollowness he felt inside. He leaned against the remaining trunk of a nearby tree, the bark rough against his cheek. He needed to sit down.

His legs felt unsteady, like wet noodles. He sank to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes. The memory of the little tree, the tiny leaves unfurling each spring, the promises he had whispered to it as a boy, a heavy weight that crushed him.