Gemotions

The days blurred into one another. He awoke, ate, worked (or rather, went through the motions of working), and slept. Evenings were spent staring at the television, the flickering screen providing a distraction that never truly distracted. The house felt too quiet, the absence of laughter a constant ache. He felt like he was slogging through quicksand.

Then, a letter arrived, the script on the envelope was familiar. He recognized the handwriting. The letter contained a sincere apology. The subject line: "I'm sorry for..." He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.

He didn't know what to do with the letter. He tossed it on the counter, next to the junk mail. He went to bed, the emptiness in the room felt profound, pressing in on him like the walls were shrinking. The letter lay undisturbed, a silent testament to a time long gone, a reminder of the energy he no longer possessed.