Gemotions

Thomas breathed deeply, the crisp morning air filling his lungs. He stood at the edge of the lake, watching the mist slowly evaporate, revealing the still, glassy surface. He had a fishing rod in his hand, a small tackle box at his feet. It was his best friend Mark's birthday, and Mark's party would be a raucous affair.

He cast his line, the movement effortless and practiced. The gentle tug of the line, the quiet wait – these were the things he craved.

He thought of Mark, the boisterous laughter, the endless energy. He loved Mark, truly, but today, he needed this quiet solitude. He felt no guilt, no pressure. He felt… content.

He eventually caught one, a small perch, which he gently released. He did not care about catching a fish. He only cared about the feeling of peace he got from standing on the water's edge.