Gemotions

He slammed the folded letter onto the coffee table, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. "Condo," he muttered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more a comb of panic than an act of grooming. He felt an odd lightness in his stomach, as if he were levitating just slightly above the worn carpet.

He paced, unable to settle. His gaze kept returning to the window, the city lights outside blurring into a meaningless kaleidoscope. He found himself picking at the skin around his thumbnails, a habit he'd long abandoned. The thought of moving, of finding a new place, filled him with a profound sense of weariness. He wanted to sit down, to just be still. But the idea of stillness felt unbearable.