Gemotions

He’d always been a coward, Michael thought, as he stared at the letter. He’d known it then, known it now. He crumpled the paper in his hand, then quickly smoothed it out. The apology, penned in a delicate, unfamiliar hand, felt like a slap. A delicious, unexpected slap. His jaw tightened, and a strange pressure built behind his eyes.

He paced his cramped apartment, the worn rug soft beneath his feet. The scent of old books and stale coffee filled the air, a familiar comfort he suddenly found suffocating. His fingers began to drum a restless rhythm on the countertop.

He re-read the words, each sentence a stab of regret. The way he had left things. He could almost feel her touch. A phantom sensation. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, suddenly feeling the confines of the clothing. He needed to get out. To move. To feel something real.