Gemotions

He stared at the crimson roses, a blood-red splash against the cold marble of the hallway table. He hadn't slept properly in days. The darkness clinging to the corners of his vision felt tangible, suffocating. He hadn’t expected anyone to remember.

He walked over to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He filled a glass with water, the metallic taste failing to quench the dryness in his mouth. He found himself staring at his reflection in the window, his eyes sunken, his jaw tight. Who would send flowers anonymously? Was it a cruel joke?

He decided to leave them, untouched. He didn't want to engage. He found himself avoiding their gaze as he headed back to his bedroom. He sank onto the bed, the mattress offering no comfort, only the familiar weight of his own despair.