Gemotions

The afternoon light cast long shadows across the living room, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. John sank into the armchair, sinking into its plush embrace. He’d promised himself to tackle the mountain of paperwork on his desk, but the effort seemed overwhelming.

He reached for a stack of old photos and discarded mail from the coffee table. He was looking for a specific photo of his father. He opened a file of letters. And then he saw it. A typed letter on official stationary with a familiar signature at the bottom. The draft of a resignation.

The language was formal, the tone businesslike, but the subtext was clear. Exhaustion. Disappointment. A sense of being trapped. He read the final paragraph, a familiar sense of empathy bubbling up inside him. He put the letter back in the file, suddenly tired, and closed his eyes.