Gemotions

He stared at the photograph, the edges of the glossy print softening under his fingertips. It was a picture of him and… her. Both of them smiling, bathed in the golden light of a summer sunset. It had only been a few weeks since their hike. Her laughter, like wind chimes, rang in his memory, mocking him now.

A chill ran up his spine, even though the apartment was warm. The discovery had been a sucker punch: a shared contact on his phone, a woman named Emily, with the same damn birthday. His pulse quickened. He felt the phantom weight of a forgotten backpack on his shoulders, the sting of sunburn he'd gotten on their adventure.

He sank down onto the couch, the photograph slipping from his grasp. The feeling was a hollow ache, a profound sense of having been misled. He found himself imagining Emily, her face, her voice, things about her that were now, suddenly, very relevant. The silence of the apartment pressed in on him. He felt the need to get out, to simply move and clear his head.