Gemotions

The world was a gray canvas. Michael spent most of his days staring at the ceiling, the light fixture his only companion. The knock at the door, heralding the mail, was a rare disruption. He ambled over, his steps heavy and slow. Inside the pile of bills, a single card. A cascade of confetti on the front, promising a celebration. But the inside was blank, except for "Happy Birthday." His breath hitched, a sudden, unwanted pang. He shut the door and returned to the couch. He couldn't shake the feeling of being completely unseen.