Gemotions

He found it wedged between the door and the doormat – a thin, padded envelope, addressed in a delicate, looping script. "To the Resident." He knew it was for the previous occupant. He didn't even need to look at the name. He recognized the handwriting. A wave of exhaustion washed over him.

He brought it inside, his movements slow and deliberate. He felt as if he were wading through thick mud. He was weary of everything, the effort of living, the ceaseless burden of remembering. He didn’t want to open it. He didn’t want to know.

He tossed it on the kitchen counter. It looked small, insignificant, but it held a power to wound him that he didn’t understand.