Gemotions

He found the notebook tucked away under the bed. Pages filled with messy handwriting – Spanish. He recognized some words, the basic greetings, the words of love he had taught her. A tight band squeezed around his head as he read her clumsy attempts at poetry, dedicated, in imperfect Spanish, to him. He remembered the arguments, the slamming doors, the unspoken words between them that were left hanging in the air. The silence in the apartment was deafening.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the notebook clutched in his hands. His hands were shaking. He hadn't sat there in months. He had stopped sleeping in the bed after she left. A sob escaped his lips as he saw the dates. He had no idea when or where she learned the language. He looked at the window, the sunlight streaming through, and found himself wanting to disappear.