Gemotions

He found himself wandering the garden, the half-finished project of a life now lost to him. The fence, a stark intrusion, interrupted the flow of the flowers and the space where they had planned to build a small fountain. He remembered the arguments, sharp words that hung in the air like the scent of woodsmoke, before the quiet, before the packing boxes, before the finality of the goodbye.

He touched a wilting rose, the petals soft and decaying, just like how he felt. He’d promised himself he’d keep the garden, but the vibrant colours felt like taunts.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty space. He felt the cold seep into his bones, and a profound loneliness descended.