Gemotions

He found the invitation tucked among the bills. He tossed it aside, the flimsy card landing face down on his desk. He stared at the blank surface, his mind racing. He was suddenly aware of the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sunlight, of the creaks and groans of the old house. Every tiny detail seemed to magnify the internal discomfort.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of agitation he hadn't realized he was performing. He stood up abruptly and began pacing the small room, his footsteps echoing in the silence. His breath hitched in his throat. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the walls of the house were closing in around him.

He picked up the invitation again, his fingers trembling slightly. The details blurred before his eyes. It was a sentence he couldn't face.