Gemotions

The flowers were placed carefully on the polished mahogany desk, their vibrant colors clashing with the somber tones of the office. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the arrangement. Roses and baby's breath. Predictable.

His fingers tapped a staccato rhythm against the wood. He could guess who sent them, of course. The usual attempts at… what? Remorse? Regret? He found them tiresome.

He picked up a pen and resumed his work, ignoring the vibrant intrusion, as if it did not exist. The words poured onto the page, creating a world free from the banality of the outside.