Gemotions

The email arrived at noon. Thomas read it, a brief, impersonal announcement. He deleted it immediately. He barely registered its contents. His arms felt heavy.

He found himself wandering through his apartment, touching the familiar objects: the worn leather of his armchair, the smooth surface of the coffee table, the faded print on the wall. He did all these movements with a slow, deliberate grace. He felt a sense of… letting go.

He sat on the bed. The sunlight, filtering through the blinds, fell across his face. He closed his eyes, his breathing deepening. He thought of nothing in particular, just the rhythm of the air entering and leaving his body.