Gemotions

He had been staring out the window for hours. The coffee had grown cold in his mug, the screen of the TV a vacant eye. Now, the space where his vintage Mustang should have been was empty. The sudden absence felt like a limb had been lopped off, leaving a dull throb in its wake.

He ran a hand across his unshaven jaw, the stubble catching and pulling. His shoulders slumped further. The realization, again, that it was gone, hit him with a fresh wallop. He felt a deep, profound sort of weariness, as though he’d been running for days without sleep.

He was tired. So very, very tired.