Gemotions

The walls seemed to be closing in, the air heavy with unspoken words. The clock ticked on, each second a hammer blow against his fragile peace. He was restless, but utterly immobile, trapped in a cycle of aimlessness. The day's events had already blurred into each other.

A package was delivered. *Not for me,* he thought, as the postman rang the bell. "To: Robert Jones." He had no knowledge of this person, who had occupied the apartment before him. He opened the door and took the box, the weight of it in his hands a stark contrast to the emptiness he felt within.

He set the box on the floor. Robert Jones. He imagined his life, his hopes, his dreams. He had his own, once. He turned and walked to the window, the cardboard forgotten, the world outside carrying on without him.