Gemotions

He paced the length of his cramped apartment, his shadow stretching and shrinking on the wall. The cake box, unopened, sat on the kitchen counter, a sugary tombstone. The aroma of stale buttercream filled the air, a constant reminder. Mark knew why it had been called off. His outburst at work, the careless words spoken in anger. He should have kept his temper in check. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The phone remained stubbornly silent; no calls from friends or family. He picked up his guitar, but the familiar chords felt hollow, the music flat.