Gemotions

He’d almost forgotten about it. The box, large and unwieldy, had been tucked away in the storage closet for weeks. He found it again while rummaging for his winter coat. It was addressed to "Ms. Anya Petrova," the former tenant. He'd meant to return it, of course.

His shoulders slumped, an unconscious weight settling upon them. He imagined Anya Petrova, wherever she was, waiting for the package. He should have taken care of it immediately. He’d been so busy, preoccupied with other things.

He could feel a flush creeping up his neck. The closet felt stuffy, the air thick and hard to breathe. He closed the door, shutting out the offending package, but the sensation remained. He really should have dealt with it.