Gemotions

The music next door pulsed, a relentless heartbeat. I pulled the curtains shut, but the sound still bled through, a constant reminder of the life I wasn’t living. I felt a pressure in my chest. A dull, heavy feeling.

My apartment, usually a refuge, felt like a prison cell. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with unspoken words. I wandered from room to room, picking up objects and putting them down again. A book I’d started weeks ago. A half-finished crossword puzzle. A mug of cold coffee.

I wanted to scream, to shout and tell someone how I was feeling. But the words wouldn't come. They never did.