Gemotions

The expensive champagne, still chilling in the fridge, felt like a mockery. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his agitated fingers. He'd even bought a new suit. The thought of wearing it now, of going anywhere, filled him with a bone-deep weariness. He'd envisioned them all, laughing, enjoying themselves. Now, only shadows danced in the silent apartment.

He wandered into the dining room, where he’d painstakingly set the table. The white linen tablecloth, the polished silverware, the carefully arranged centerpieces; all meant to create a perfect scene. The anticipation. The joy. Gone. He felt a deep, persistent ache, a throbbing in his temples.

He sat heavily in one of the chairs, the seat cold against his skin. He closed his eyes, picturing the moment he’d imagined, the moment that would never be. He hated it. He hated the way it made him feel, hollow and adrift.