Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams slicing through the window of David's cramped apartment. He sat, staring at the screen, the news article detailing the impending closure of Oakhaven University. The words felt like a punch to the gut. It had been his whole life, it felt like.

He pulled out a faded college t-shirt, the crimson fabric emblazoned with the school crest. Running his fingers over the worn cotton, he could almost feel the phantom weight of his backpack, the familiar ache in his shoulders after a long day of classes.

He thought of the library, the scent of old paper and leather, where he’d spent countless hours. He pictured the quad, always buzzing with life, students tossing frisbees, the air alive with energy. He closed his eyes, a phantom taste of the cafeteria's questionable pizza lingering on his tongue. He should have appreciated it more, he thought.