Gemotions

He'd come early, wanting to say goodbye to the place alone. But the construction workers had already arrived, their voices loud and boisterous. He stood frozen, his feet rooted to the spot.

He saw the peeling paint, the overgrown weeds, the boarded-up windows. It was in a state of disrepair. He knew it. But still, the knowledge didn't mitigate the peculiar tightness in his chest, the strange sensation that he was about to lose a limb.

He took a step forward, then another, drawn towards the dilapidated porch. He placed his hand on the weathered wood, feeling the sun-baked grain beneath his fingertips. He felt something welling up inside of him, and he didn't know what to do about it.