Gemotions

The letter, stained with what looked suspiciously like coffee, lay on the kitchen counter, an unwelcome guest. David picked it up, his knuckles turning white. He tossed it back down, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. He grabbed the carton of milk and poured himself a glass, the liquid sloshing over the side. The taste, normally comforting, was bland and unsatisfying. He paced the small kitchen, his steps heavy and agitated. He wanted to obliterate the past, pretend it had never happened. The mere thought felt like a physical weight.