Gemotions

The air in the living room, thick with the scent of old paper and stale coffee, felt heavy on Daniel's shoulders. The boxes overflowed. He felt as if the room itself was closing in, the walls pressing closer with each assignment he pulled out.

His mother, a woman of meticulous habits, had saved everything. He ran his fingers over the edges of a particularly embarrassing poem he had written in high school. He hadn’t felt this exposed in years.

A chill ran through him as he noticed his own handwriting, changed over time, a map of his evolving self. He needed air. He rose abruptly, pushing the boxes aside, and went out the back door into the garden, seeking some respite.