Gemotions

He was halfway through his morning coffee when the package arrived. He barely glanced at the postman as he took the package inside. Inside was a letter, a thick, expensive paper. The writing was familiar. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

He slammed the letter onto the table. The coffee cup shook in his hands. He hated this. He hated the letter. He hated the person who wrote it. He stormed out into his garden, the sunlight brutal. The air felt thick, difficult to breathe.

He stopped, staring at the overgrown roses. The thorns were sharp, the blooms a vibrant red, their beauty masking their capacity to wound. He remembered the pain, and he felt a sharp, cutting ache deep in his chest. A profound, lasting ache.