Gemotions

He found them on his doorstep: a simple bunch of lilies, their creamy petals just beginning to unfurl. John, hunched and weary from a week of sleepless nights, stared at them. They smelled of something pure, something fresh, unlike the stale scent of his own worries. He knelt, his knees protesting, and carefully carried them inside.

He placed them on the piano, where the dust of disuse had gathered. The keys, usually untouched, beckoned him. He sat down, fingers hovering, and then, slowly, a melody began to emerge. The music, a quiet outpouring, felt like a long, slow sigh. His shoulders eased, the tension finally loosening its grip. He hadn't played in months.