Gemotions

He held the invitation in his hand, feeling the paper crinkle as he squeezed it. The simple gesture was an echo of the way he'd often grasped his chest, as if trying to hold himself together. He knew he should RSVP, but a voice inside him was screaming, *Don't go.*

He walked through the house, barely registering the familiar surroundings. Each object, each photograph, was a painful reminder of what he had lost. He felt so empty.

The silence of his house was deafening. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the harsh liquid burning his throat. He just wanted to forget, to sleep, to not feel this crippling weight.