Gemotions

He’d avoided this room for years, the room where his childhood piano sat gathering dust. It was a tangible reminder of the expectations that had crushed him. Michael wandered in, tracing the keys with a trembling finger. He hadn't played in ages.

He found it wedged between sheet music: a letter. His own handwriting, neat and careful, addressed to his father. The ink had faded, but the passion, the desperate need for approval, still bled through.

"I know I haven't been the son you wanted..." the words stung like a fresh wound. The young Michael had craved validation, to be good enough. The old Michael, staring at the words, felt a familiar pressure in his chest, a feeling that he'd never measured up.