Gemotions

He stared at the ceiling, the cracks in the plaster becoming a constellation of forgotten worlds. The sheets were twisted around him, a physical representation of the knots in his soul. Coffee remained untouched on his nightstand, the aroma doing nothing to rouse him. The weight on his chest made it difficult to breathe, each inhale a conscious act of will. Sarah had been gone for months, and the silence in the apartment was deafening.

He heard Sarah downstairs, talking on the phone. Then, a word. A phrase. A dialect. Her grandmother’s language. He dragged himself out of bed and crept to the top of the stairs, peering down. Sarah saw him and quickly put her hand over the phone.

He had always felt as if Sarah didn't truly understand the core of him. Now, she was speaking words that echoed in the silence of his loss, words that he'd thought were lost to him, too. He retreated back into the darkness, a strange feeling blooming in his stomach.