Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as he flipped through the manuscript, his knuckles white. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and suppressed emotion. He'd found it tucked away in a box of her things, a story about him, narrated by her. The details, the observations, were painfully accurate. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror, distorting his reflection.

He sank to the floor, his vision blurring. A wave of nausea rolled through him. He re-read a passage describing their first date, the nervous laughter, the shy glances. Each word was a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of what was lost, of the future they'd envisioned.

A choked sob escaped, followed by another. He hadn't cried in weeks. The tears came now, a torrent, washing away the carefully constructed facade of control. It seemed all of his bodily systems were in overdrive, trying to process something unbearable.