Gemotions

He tore open the envelope, the paper ripping with a sound that grated on his nerves. He felt a wave of nausea, his stomach churning with unease. He read the invitation, then reread it, his eyes scanning each word, searching for an out.

His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison. The silence echoed his internal turmoil. He hated the thought of seeing everyone, the inevitable comparisons, the whispered judgments. His hands began to tremble.

He reached for a cigarette, his fingers fumbling with the pack. He lit it, the smoke a temporary distraction from the overwhelming anxiety. He paced back and forth, the burning cigarette a symbol of his inner turmoil. He was a mess.