Gemotions

The bass from next door rattled the photographs on my mantelpiece. Each picture was a memory, a ghost of a past that seemed increasingly distant. I stared at the smiling faces, feeling a pang of longing.

I made the decision to go and knock on his door. When it opened, a tall, smiling man with a bright shirt stood before me. I opened my mouth, but only a croak emerged.

“Yes?” the man asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Could you…could you turn the music down a bit?” I finally managed. My voice sounded small and insignificant.

He nodded, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. I turned and walked back inside, the music slightly softer, but still there.