Gemotions

The house felt like a heavy blanket, suffocating and still. I was meant to be cleaning out the spare bedroom, a chore that felt herculean. I felt as though I was moving through molasses, each movement an immense undertaking.

My gaze fell upon a box, labeled "Memories." Inside, nestled amongst yellowed letters, I discovered a series of photographs. They showed my uncle, the family's gentle giant, in a much different light. He was pictured at a wild party, in a leather jacket on a motorcycle, holding a guitar on a stage.

I stared, completely stunned. The weight in my shoulders lessened. I felt a faint pulse of something other than that heavy inertia. I reached for another photo, drawn in.