Gemotions

He stared at the blank page in front of him. The essay prompt: "What are your goals for the future?" The usual words eluded him, the usual inspiration was gone. He used to write with such conviction, so sure of his path. Now, the path seemed to have vanished completely.

His fingers tapped a random rhythm on the desk. He leaned back in his chair, staring out the window. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue. The thought of starting again, of finding a new dream, felt exhausting. He rested his head on the desk for a moment, the smooth wood cool against his cheek.