Gemotions

He paced the length of his cramped apartment, the worn rug offering little comfort to his restless energy. Sunlight streamed through the dusty window, illuminating the swirling motes of dust that danced in the air. The letter was a foreign object on his otherwise meticulously organized coffee table. He should have tossed it. Should have burnt it. It was a waste of his time. He kept checking his watch, as if by willing the minutes to hurry along, he could erase the past.

The apology, when read, felt like a slap in the face. All those years, and now this… this flimsy excuse. He tossed the letter aside, the sudden movement causing his chair to scrape loudly against the hardwood floor. He needed a cigarette. Now.