Gemotions

The invitation lay on the doormat, a stark white rectangle against the worn wood. He kicked it, just barely, as he walked inside, wanting to avoid looking at it. But of course he knew what it was.

He made himself a coffee, and the smell of the grounds did nothing to soothe his internal unrest. He paced in the small kitchen, his hands clenched. It had been decades, and yet the old feelings were still there, still raw.

He pulled the invitation from the trash, then put it back. He'd hoped to forget. Seeing them would mean reliving it all. The anxiety was a cold weight in his chest.