Gemotions

The tiny, cramped apartment felt even smaller now. Mark stared at the mountains of paper, the evidence of his mother’s relentless collection. He ran his hand over the top of a folder, feeling the brittle paper beneath his fingers. He felt a deep, piercing stab of discomfort.

He found his kindergarten drawings, and a familiar ache gripped his heart. The childish figures, the vibrant colors, the crude attempts at representing the world – it was all laid bare. He felt a burning in his eyes, but he refused to let the tears fall. Why had she kept all of this? He needed to get away.

He pushed the boxes aside, then slumped into a chair, the plastic creaking under his weight. He rubbed his temples, fighting a wave of nausea. He wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self to be a better son.