Gemotions

The silence of the house was deafening. He stared at the ceiling, the patterns of the stucco blurring as tears welled in his eyes. The knowledge, a brutal fact, had settled in his bones.

Every memory, every shared joke, every late-night conversation, now felt like a weight, a reminder of the life that was about to be irrevocably altered.

He sat up, the sheets twisting around his legs. He found himself picking at the threads on the comforter, each snag a metaphor for the fraying connection. He felt a desperate need to keep hold of something, anything, of the past. He buried his face in his hands, unable to stop the flow of grief.