Gemotions

He stared at the half-packed boxes in his apartment, each one a tangible representation of the space that would soon be empty. The emptiness was a physical thing, like a vacuum slowly sucking the air from the room. He felt it in his chest, in his throat. His throat was dry. David sighed. His best friend, Noah, was relocating to London.

He had promised to help with the packing, but couldn't bring himself to touch anything. His limbs felt heavy. He could barely focus. He slumped against a box labeled "Kitchen," the cardboard rough against his cheek.

He closed his eyes, picturing Noah's face, the easy smile, the familiar crinkle around his eyes. He opened them and looked at the boxes again.