Gemotions

The apartment, once a haven, now felt like a prison. Ethan, sitting at the kitchen table, stared at the list, the paper stained with coffee rings. His father's aspirations, written in a confident hand, seemed to taunt him. "Learn to cook Italian." "Visit Italy." "Start a family." The words, once inspiring, now felt like a weight, a cruel reminder.

He hadn't left the apartment in days. The dishes piled up in the sink, the curtains remained drawn. He felt a constant, pervasive exhaustion, a heavy cloak that smothered any flicker of motivation. He wanted to feel alive again, but the thought of moving, of doing anything, seemed impossible. He was a statue, frozen in grief, and he had no idea how to thaw.