Gemotions

The thought of moving, of packing his meager belongings, of starting again, made his stomach churn. His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the walls closing in. He felt a constant, pervasive unease, a jitteriness that wouldn't abate.

He wandered through the building, a ghost in his own life. He saw the construction workers, their tools and equipment, the signs of imminent change. Each hammer blow, each saw cut, chipped away at something inside him.

The world seemed to have lost its color, his perspective monochrome. Everything felt heavy, as if made of lead. His shoulders slouched, his gait slow and measured. The thought of engaging with anything, anyone, felt utterly exhausting.