Gemotions

He hadn't touched his guitar in days. The strings felt cold and unresponsive, much like his hands. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to taunt him, its brightness a cruel reminder of the joy he couldn’t feel.

He found his journal lying on his roommate, Jake’s, desk. A single, crumpled piece of paper lay next to it—a page from his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry," Jake finally offered, the words a thin, insufficient salve. He felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. He felt the darkness close around him. He felt nothing at all.