Gemotions

He slumped onto the worn couch, the springs groaning in protest. The air in his childhood bedroom, now his again, felt thick, heavy with the ghosts of forgotten dreams. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, the familiar gesture failing to soothe the internal turmoil.

Dinner was a silent affair. His parents, usually boisterous, spoke in hushed tones, avoiding his eyes. He picked at his food, the flavors bland and unappetizing. The television flickered in the background, a meaningless parade of images that failed to register.

Later, he found himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked older, his face etched with lines he didn't remember acquiring. The fluorescent light seemed to drain all the color from him. A single tear traced a path down his cheek, followed by another, and another, until he turned away, unable to bear the sight.