Gemotions

He walked through the front door, the aroma of his mother's cooking immediately hitting him. It was a familiar smell, a scent he'd grown up with, but today, it felt intrusive, a suffocating embrace. He forced a smile as his mother rushed to greet him.

He excused himself and made his way to his old bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The room felt small, the walls closing in. He sat on the bed, staring at the posters he'd put up as a teenager. They felt foreign now, relics of a life he no longer recognized.

The weight of expectations, of needing to "get back on track," was a physical presence. He wanted to scream, to run, but his legs were lead, and he was trapped in this space, with all the memories and the weight of their hopeful gaze.