Gemotions

He traced the outline of the brick chimney with a trembling finger, the rough texture a stark contrast to his smooth, city-softened skin. Richard felt the familiar sting in his eyes. He hadn't cried in years.

He'd spent the last few days in a fog, going through the motions. He hadn't eaten properly, and his sleep was fractured. Each blink felt like a monumental effort.

A gust of wind rustled through the overgrown garden, scattering dry leaves across the porch. He imagined his father, whistling as he tended the roses. The image struck him like a physical blow.