Gemotions

David hated the sound of his own footsteps echoing in the empty house, a constant reminder of the space he'd left behind. He spent hours staring at the cracks in the ceiling, each one a fault line in his own existence.

The simple act of eating became a chore. He picked at his food, the taste of cardboard filling his mouth. His appetite had deserted him, leaving him with a gnawing emptiness that no amount of food could fill. He couldn't stomach the thought of going out, of facing anyone, of pretending he was okay.

He spent his days in the garden, yanking weeds with a ferocious energy, the physical exertion the only thing that could momentarily distract him from the ache in his soul. His hands were raw and blistered, a testament to his silent struggle.