Gemotions

"Just breathe," Mark muttered under his breath, repeating the mantra he'd heard in a meditation app. It did little good. His father's hospital room, the bedside vigil, the chance to say goodbye. That was what he was missing. He looked at the window, the grey sky mirroring his mood. The airport was a cage, the delayed flight a tangible barrier.

He drummed his fingers on the hard plastic of the chair. The rhythmic tapping was supposed to calm him, but the sound only seemed to amplify the internal chaos. He needed to see his father. He imagined what his father would say if he showed up late. The gentle ribbing, the knowing look. He closed his eyes for a moment, the image refusing to be dispelled.