Gemotions

The phone felt heavy in his hand. “Yes, I understand,” he’d mumbled into the receiver. “I’ll be there.” He hung up, the silence of his apartment amplifying the ringing in his ears. He looked around. His apartment felt like a prison.

He hadn’t shaved in days. His reflection in the mirror was a stranger, gaunt and weary. He felt the familiar weight of emptiness settling in his bones, a profound lack of energy that sapped his will. He thought of cancelling the trip, of just staying put in the suffocating quiet of his existence.

He forced himself to pack a bag, the movements robotic and slow. Each item triggered a memory, a phantom touch, a fleeting sensation of a life that felt impossibly distant. He felt adrift, untethered, lost in a sea of unspoken grief. He barely managed to make it out the door.