Gemotions

He’d driven for hours, the interstate a ribbon of endless gray. Now, parked on the overgrown shoulder, he stared. The air hung thick and heavy, the humidity clinging to his skin like a shroud. A single, ragged robin chirped nearby, its song a jarring counterpoint to the silence.

The tree. He remembered the precise spot, the ceremony, the awkward smiles. Just a flat space now. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool metal a momentary comfort. His breath hitched. All the miles, all the preparation, for this. He felt a profound sense of hollowness.

"Damn it," he whispered, the sound lost to the wind rustling through the weeds.