Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a beige rectangle accusingly labeled with the wrong name. Michael stared at it, the November chill seeping into his bones despite his heavy coat. It was addressed to Emily Carter, the woman who had lived here before, the woman… the woman. He hadn't seen her in weeks. He hadn't wanted to. He felt a constant pressure in his chest, a weight that made each breath a laborious task.

He dragged the box inside, the mundane act of lifting the package a struggle. The weight of his own existence felt heavier somehow. He set it on the kitchen counter, the faded linoleum mirroring the hollowness inside him. The scent of old glue and dust swirled around him, a ghost of a life he remembered, a life that had been. He should probably just leave it there.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave in days. With a sigh, he reached for a box cutter.