Gemotions

He had gone into the attic one last time and now he was back in the front yard. He clutched the faded baseball glove, his fingers tracing the worn leather. The sky was the same color as it always was on game days. He kicked at a loose stone. He felt restless. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop time.

He watched the workers carry out furniture. Each object was a memory. He felt a deep ache within him. He felt as if everything he'd known was now being dismantled.

He sat on the curb, the glove resting on his lap. He didn't look up as the house crumbled.