Gemotions

He tripped over the box as he entered the apartment, nearly losing his footing. "To Ms. Ramirez," it read, a careless scrawl that mirrored his own current state. He sighed, kicking it further into the hallway.

He just wanted to lie down. But the shadows in his bedroom were wrong; they were too empty, too full of reminders.

He walked into the kitchen and made coffee. Alone. The aroma, usually comforting, was just a sharp stab of what used to be. The clatter of the cups and the whir of the machine was the only sound. His eyes burned with an unshed moisture, the kind that never quite releases.