Gemotions

Michael stared at the letter, the paper crinkling slightly in his sweaty hand. Condos. It was finally happening. He was nearly sick with dread and anticipation. He’d lived in this building for fifteen years. He felt such a fondness for the place.

He poured himself a glass of water, the ice clinking cheerfully. He watched the condensation form on the glass, a tiny, temporary work of art. The silence of his apartment felt like a warm embrace. He was able to sit and soak it in.

He called his mother, just to chat. He let her talk, mostly, about the weather and her garden. He laughed at her stories, and felt himself being buoyed by her voice. He felt full.