Gemotions

He slammed the drawer shut, the force of it rattling the old desk. The letter, clutched in his trembling hand, felt accusing. It was a plea, a childish cry for help that he’d penned to his own father, decades ago. He’d clearly been so naive, thinking his father would actually *care*.

“Stupid,” he muttered, pacing his small apartment. The words on the page were a stark reminder of his past vulnerabilities, his youthful yearning. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the familiar frustration gnawing at his insides.

He crumpled the letter, considering tossing it in the fire. His chest felt tight, constricted by the weight of unfulfilled expectations and buried resentment. He wanted, no, he *needed* to get out of the house. Now.