Gemotions

He found the invitation tucked between the bills on the kitchen counter. A wave of physical resistance washed over him as he considered the words. He slowly lowered himself onto a chair, the wood cold against his skin.

The memories themselves weren't necessarily unpleasant. It was the prospect of having to *present* himself. Of pretending to care. Of making small talk. His eyelids felt heavy, his gaze distant.

He ran a hand through his hair, the action slow, as if each individual strand held some kind of weight. It all felt like too much effort. He closed his eyes, already imagining the awkward conversations, the forced camaraderie, and the ultimate letdown of it all.