Gemotions

The cigarette burned between my fingers, the ash a fragile grey against the darkening sky. Mark. The surgeon. The hours, the dedication, the life-and-death stakes. Now… It felt like a betrayal. A sourness filled my mouth; bitter, acrid.

I watched a car pass, its headlights cutting through the growing twilight. The thought of all the shared meals, the confidences whispered over late-night beers. Were they real? Or was it all a performance?

My lungs felt tight, restricted. A deep breath felt impossible. The air tasted stale, like old secrets.