Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Clara's mouth. She set the mug down with a clatter, the sound too loud in the silent kitchen. The sun was streaming in through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Condo conversion. She saw the building's name printed on a new stationary.

She'd been spending a lot of time on the couch lately, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of the city. The constant thrum of life seemed to mock her inner quiet. Even her favorite songs felt out of tune.

She thought about getting dressed, going out. But the thought of navigating the crowds, of forced interactions, felt unbearable. She sank back into the sofa, the cushions molding to her shape, and closed her eyes.