Gemotions

The humid summer air clung to him, heavy and oppressive. He sat on the porch steps, the paint peeling beneath his fingertips. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. He was a coward, he told himself.

A letter slipped from a volume of poetry – a torn corner, a single word underlined. *Forever*. He was so wrong. He should have stood up. He should have fought for them. The implications of his choices echoed in the sudden silence.

He stared at the letter, his chest aching. The sun was going down, and the world seemed to darken around him. The failure was a brand, etched into the very core of his being.