Gemotions

The days were indistinguishable, a blur of inaction and empty calories. He navigated them on autopilot, a ghost in his own life. The front door was a barrier, a shield against the relentless, vibrant world outside. A knock, a hesitant one, resonated through the stillness.

It was Ms. Olsen, her arms laden with gardening tools and a hopeful expression. “Hello! I was hoping to… to ask if you’d be willing to let me have a small part of your yard for a little garden. I’ve always wanted one.” Her voice was small, almost apologetic.

He felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach. The request was reasonable, harmless even. But the energy required to even *think* about it felt monumental. He shook his head, the movement slow and heavy. Ms. Olsen’s smile wavered, and she retreated. The absence of her presence was almost a relief.