Gemotions

The lilies were the wrong choice, thought Thomas. They were too cheerful, too… hopeful. He felt the opposite. He’d found them on the doorstep, a fragrant intrusion to his self-imposed solitude. He’d closed the door without a word.

He wandered through the house, unable to settle. He picked at a loose thread on the worn armchair. He felt a deep, persistent dissatisfaction. He felt a need to break something. He grabbed the vase and brought it to the balcony, the city lights below, a vast indifferent tapestry.