Gemotions

He slumped onto the park bench, the weight of the book in his bag pressing against his thigh. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, but Thomas saw none of it. The wind, usually a comforting presence, now felt like a taunt, whipping at his cheeks. The author had painted him as a hero, a man he'd never strived to be, never could be. He'd never told anyone about the things that truly plagued him. Reading about a fictionalized version of his life made him feel hollow, as though the reality of his existence had been drained away. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, unable to focus on anything.