Gemotions

The letter lay on the worn coffee table, the official wording a stark contrast to the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that disappeared as a grin crept across his face.

“Finally,” he whispered, the sound barely audible. The crushing weight that had been on his shoulders, a permanent fixture for so long, vanished. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air that smelled different, fresher.

He turned toward the window, the sun warming his face. He’d hated this apartment. He’d hated the constant complaints from the landlord. He was free. He almost felt like dancing.