Gemotions

He cleared his throat, his gaze drifting towards the towering oak that straddled the property line. "It's blocking my sunlight, you know?" Thomas hadn't known; he barely spoke to his new neighbor, Ms. Gable. Now, his carefully crafted persona of detached independence felt brittle, vulnerable. He swallowed, the words catching in his throat.

Thomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His palms began to sweat. He muttered an agreement, and his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. He found himself staring at his calloused hands. She had such a beautiful garden. He wanted to say something, anything to keep this from going further, but found himself unable.