Gemotions

It landed with a thud, the box. Another one. "For Mr. Henderson," the neat handwriting scrawled across the top. He thought about leaving it out there. Let the rain get to it. Let the wind carry it away.

He knew what this was, though. He had been getting their mail. They had gotten his. Their absence was everywhere.

He shuffled inside, the silence of the house pressing against him. He saw the empty spaces on the walls. She wasn’t coming back. The air in his lungs felt tight, as if something were squeezing his chest. He felt as though the very air was a betrayal. He picked up his guitar, but the strings felt wrong.