Gemotions

The world felt muted, as if filtered through a thick layer of cotton. Even the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves outside the window seemed dull. Michael hadn't gone for a walk in days, the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other feeling like an insurmountable task. He existed. He existed, and that was all. He'd found a manuscript hidden in a drawer, the pages filled with familiar details, yet warped and distorted. It was a story about their relationship, but the man portrayed was petty, withdrawn, and utterly devoid of joy. The protagonist, a mirror image of him in the novel, was a caricature. And it gutted him.