Gemotions

The man’s words hung in the air, thick and heavy like the humid summer air. “It’s starting to drop branches, causing a hazard,” the man, from next door, explained. The elm, their shared elm. It was a lie. He knew the elm was healthy, vibrant. His wife had loved that tree.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the image of her, laughing, beneath its canopy. The memory felt like a phantom limb, a constant ache in its absence. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck taut. It was as if the world was conspiring against him.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll… I’ll need some time to think about it,” he mumbled, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He turned away, desperate to escape the conversation, to escape the reminder.