Gemotions

The smell of freshly cut grass, wafting from Mr. Peterson’s yard, was an immediate irritant. I glared out my window. He was always doing something, always improving something. I hated it.

He had a whole team working on his property. I was struggling to keep the weeds at bay in my tiny patch of land. It was a constant reminder of everything I didn't have.

My hands trembled slightly as I made a cup of tea. It was a stupid, trivial thing, I knew, but it felt important. The tea tasted bitter, and I found myself replaying our last interaction. He had barely looked at me, as if I were invisible.