Gemotions

The sterile white of the hospital room seemed to amplify the silence. Michael looked at the file, the wrong file, the wrong life. It belonged to a woman with a network of friends and family. The descriptions of her support system were a painful contrast to his own isolated existence. He closed the file, the sound echoing in the room.

He walked aimlessly. The city blurred around him; he hadn't noticed how cold it was. His apartment, which was usually a refuge, felt alien, a collection of objects that had lost their meaning. He brewed a cup of tea, the clinking of the mug a harsh sound in the quiet space.

He was struck by the thought that he had never, not once in his life, felt seen. Not like this woman, at least. He stared at his reflection in the window, and for a fleeting moment, he didn't recognize himself.