Gemotions

He slammed the door to his childhood bedroom, the sound echoing in the empty house. His father, gone for a week on a business trip, had left him to “sort things out” after his mother’s passing. He’d told himself it would be fine. He’d lied. He was not fine.

The closet, once a haven of teenage rebellion, now held the ghosts of his past. He pulled out a box marked "Michael - School." The cardboard crumbled in his hands. He opened it, not wanting to, but knowing he had to.

His sixth-grade science project, complete with glitter glue and a lopsided volcano, stared back at him. A knot formed in his stomach. He didn't want to see this. He didn’t want to remember. The weight of it all, of the choices he'd made, of the person he'd become, pressed down on him.