Gemotions

He walked aimlessly, the park's vibrant hues a mockery of his inner state. The rustle of leaves was a constant, irritating companion. He hadn't spoken to anyone properly in days, not since his cat, Mittens, had passed. His apartment, once a haven, had become a prison. The mail was the highlight of his day, a chance for a mundane distraction.

He scanned the small pile, his gaze lingering on a thick, slightly yellowed envelope, sealed with a wax stamp. The return address was unfamiliar, yet the handwriting… his stomach lurched. The apology was for something trivial, a misunderstanding from high school, but the sincerity was palpable. It was a wound he didn't realize still ached.

He sat on a bench, the cold seeping through his jeans. He ran his hand through his hair. The warmth of the sun did not reach his skin. The emptiness in his chest felt almost physical.