Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creaks a monotonous soundtrack to his evening. He stared at the house across the street, a house he used to know so well. The lights were on, and he could see his childhood friend, Lisa, through the window, laughing. She was surrounded by friends.

He had tried to approach her, a few days ago, at the park. He wanted to reminisce about old times. She looked at him with polite indifference. “I don’t think I know you,” she had said, her voice clear.

The night air grew cooler. He wrapped his arms around himself, a chill settling deep within him. The swing continued its slow sway. The world felt muffled, distant, and the space between him and the house across the street felt vast and unbridgeable. His neighborhood became a foreign land.