Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery downstairs, usually a source of comfort, now turned his stomach. He looked around his apartment, at the worn furniture and the faded photographs. He should have upgraded the couch.

He closed his eyes, remembering the late nights spent drinking with his friends, the laughter echoing through the halls. The good times. The sense of belonging. The feeling was like a physical weight on his shoulders.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. He should have appreciated it more, he thought, the gentle ease of it all. He'd been too busy taking it for granted.