Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a counterpoint to the music drifting from the open window of the house next door. It was his song, a saccharine, upbeat cover version that made him cringe. He’d written it for his father, a testament of love and loss. Now it sounded… shallow. He gripped the edge of the swing, his knuckles white. The performance lacked the depth, the genuine emotion he had poured into it. He felt like his most vulnerable parts were being exposed as being empty. He watched the fireflies dance in the twilight, their tiny lights mocking the darkness that had settled within him.