Gemotions

He walked the familiar route, head down, each step echoing in the silent hallway. He kept seeing his neighbor, Mr. Davis, meticulously tending his small herb garden. He should have asked him for tips.

He hadn’t even bothered to learn everyone’s names. He had kept to himself, a solitary figure in a sea of shared experiences.

The keys felt heavy in his pocket, a tangible symbol of loss. His apartment, once a place of refuge, now felt like a cage. He had let his home become a place he merely inhabited, not truly lived in. It had been his fault.