Gemotions

He watched the dust motes dance in the sunbeams slicing through the grimy windows of his apartment. Nothing held his attention. The half-finished novel on his desk, the looming deadline at work – everything felt muted, far away. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture mechanical, empty. The argument with Maya gnawed at him. They were discussing the band they'd seen in college.

“It was the best gig ever, remember?” Maya had said, a smile lighting her face. “The singer crowd-surfed right over us!”

He, however, remembered being squashed in the back, struggling to breathe, the music a dull roar. He remembered a claustrophobic panic and an overwhelming desire to escape. He'd said as much, only to be met with incredulous laughter and dismissals of his experience.

He felt like a stranger in his own memories, an extra in the movie of his life. The sun, which he usually loved, seemed harsh and unforgiving.