Gemotions

He stared at the blank page, the pen still poised in mid-air. He'd wanted to write a speech, a heartfelt tribute to his friend. Now, the words refused to come. The words, once brimming with affection, now felt like poison in his mind. The carefully chosen font, the elegant paper – all useless.

He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal. He swirled it again, watching the light catch the edges. He should have known. He should have seen it coming. A heavy weight settled in his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

He had spent weeks planning, coordinating, creating a perfect evening. The image of the surprise, of the joy, was now a constant, unwelcome presence. He took a long, slow sip of whiskey, the burn a temporary distraction from the deeper ache.