Gemotions

He picked at the loose threads on the couch cushion, his fingers clumsy and restless. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but he didn’t feel the warmth. The memory of the way she’d flinched when he walked in on her, her hurried explanation, was a constant, unwelcome companion. The air hung thick with unspoken accusations and unanswered questions. He knew he should say something, do something, but the words and the courage eluded him. He felt like a failure.