Gemotions

He stared at the invitation, the glossy paper reflecting the dim light of his workshop. Liam ran a calloused hand over his face, his movements slow and deliberate. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the single overhead bulb.

The smell of sawdust and varnish filled the air, a familiar comfort he found himself clinging to. His hands were his solace, and his life was the craft. But the anticipation of the reunion was a tight knot in his chest.

He felt the old pressures tugging at him, the expectations of his family, the whispers of his peers. He thought of the life he should have had, or maybe even what they all expected him to have. He picked up a chisel and began to work, the rhythmic tapping a temporary balm to the building storm inside.