Gemotions

He stared out the window, the rain blurring the landscape into a watercolor wash. He’d been told, by the realtor, that the new family next door were “well-established.” That was an understatement. He’d caught glimpses of their home - the indoor pool, the personal gym, the staff members tending the expansive grounds. The information, a slow burn of resentment, refused to leave him.

His shoulders slumped, a physical manifestation of his internal struggle. He felt a constant low-level tension, a tightening in his chest that wouldn’t go away. He reached for a cigarette, even though he knew he should quit. He lit it, the smoke a momentary distraction from the thoughts that swirled relentlessly in his mind.

He knew he was being irrational, that comparing himself to others was a pointless exercise. But the knowledge provided no comfort. He felt as though he was slowly sinking, trapped in a quicksand of his own making. He stomped out the cigarette.