Gemotions

He’d called, finally, two weeks after he’d moved to Florida. I didn't answer. The sound of his voice on my voicemail was a cruel reminder of the life he was living without me. I deleted the message, then immediately regretted it.

My apartment felt colder, emptier. The space where his things had been, now a barren expanse, mocked my loneliness. I found myself staring at his old mug, still in the cupboard, wishing I'd given it away. It was a stupid object, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it out.

The ache in my chest was a constant companion, a dull throbbing that refused to let me forget. His texts kept arriving, asking how I was doing. I replied with brief, clipped answers, unable to articulate the storm brewing within.