Gemotions

He’d stopped eating. Food sat, untouched, on his plate. His apartment, usually meticulously tidy, was now a disaster zone – clothes strewn across the bed, empty coffee cups littering every surface. He'd purchased a second-hand copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude", the cover creased and faded, mostly because it was on sale. Inside, wedged between pages 102 and 103, he found a folded note. "I remember the smell of your skin like I remember the words of our secret song," it read. The anonymous words were more resonant than any he had ever heard. He closed the book, the metallic taste of grief filling his mouth.