Gemotions

The park felt like a taunt. Families picnicked, children played, lovers strolled hand-in-hand. He, on the other hand, sat on a bench, a captive audience to their joy. His cane lay forgotten on the ground, a symbol of his inadequacy.

He hated this, every single day. He hated being different, his limitations, the stares. Every day was a fight, and every day, he was losing.

He was about to get up and leave when he saw a woman approach, also with a cane. She sat down next to him, her face a mask of weary composure.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, her voice devoid of any real feeling. He didn't answer. He simply stared, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

"It's the retinopathy," she said, answering his unspoken question. He felt a sliver of something that came close to acknowledgement.