Gemotions

He stared at the ceiling, the familiar plaster beginning to blur. The words he had poured onto those pages – his clumsy attempts at poetry, his yearning for connection – were now public fodder. A low groan escaped him, a sound of profound discouragement. He kicked the sheets, tangling himself in the mess.

His phone buzzed repeatedly, each notification a fresh wave of humiliation. He swiped away the messages, unable to bring himself to look at them. The air in his room felt thick, heavy with unspoken things. This discovery had left him feeling quite depleted.

He remembered the youthful idealism with a pang. The youthful version of himself would have been furious. He pulled the covers over his head and waited for the feeling to pass.