Gemotions

He clutched the crumpled notes in his hand, his knuckles white. The words he’d written seemed inadequate, insufficient to capture the depth of his feelings. He wanted to run, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of forced cheerfulness. His heart throbbed in his chest. He was not good with these things.

He gazed at his father, his face alight with pride and contentment. The man had dedicated his life to work, and now, finally, he was free. He should feel happy. But all he felt was this deep, heavy sensation. He was losing something in the transition.

He stepped up to the microphone, his throat constricted. The words felt like lead as they tumbled from his mouth. He hoped he could get through it without completely falling apart. It was a struggle.