Gemotions

He slammed his laptop shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. The image of the house, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, was burned onto the back of his eyelids. He felt a deep, abiding sorrow.

He walked to the kitchen, aimlessly. He wasn't hungry, but his body felt heavy and slow. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it in slow, deliberate sips, trying to find something to tether him to the present.

The way his father used to sit in the porch swing, the way his mother sang as she worked in the garden. Memories, like phantoms, haunted every corner of the house in the pictures. He slumped against the counter.