Gemotions

The ornate invitation, delivered via snail mail, felt like a summons. James tossed it on the pile of bills and junk mail, adding it to the clutter he was desperately trying to avoid. He didn't want to engage.

His apartment was tidy, almost sterile. The furniture, though expensive, seemed to mock him with its perfection. He wandered from room to room, feeling detached, the vastness of the space amplifying his loneliness.

He stopped in front of the mirror, studying his reflection with a critical eye. He looked older, more drawn. He didn't want to be judged, or worse, pitied.