Gemotions

The attic air was thick with dust and unspoken words. "Visit the Louvre." Michael stared at the handwriting, his father’s precise script. He felt the familiar weight in his chest, the feeling of being trapped. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his heart. His father, a man of rigid routines, had yearned to see art, to experience beauty.

Michael stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of old books. A cascade of paper filled the air. He felt overwhelmed, lost. He wished he could go back, to have another chance, to do things differently. The silence of the attic felt heavy, almost unbearable.