Gemotions

He hunched deeper into the armchair, the worn velvet scratching against his cheek. Thomas stared at the letter, its edges frayed. He’d found it tucked inside a favourite book, a letter he'd written to his father, long gone. He hadn't felt like this in years, the lethargy, the feeling of lead in his veins. The words, so carefully chosen, now seemed raw and vulnerable.

He read of youthful ambitions, of a burning desire to impress, to be seen. The ink blurred as his eyes watered. A sigh escaped him, a sound of profound weariness. The silence of the house amplified the emptiness he felt, a hollowness that seemed to echo in the hollow of his chest.