Gemotions

He found himself pacing his tiny apartment again. The worn carpet offered no comfort beneath his restless feet. The walls were closing in, he thought, the air thick with the residue of unfulfilled dreams. He'd been messaging Maya for six months. She knew all his secrets. All his frustrations.

His phone buzzed. Maya. He tapped the screen, eager for the distraction. He read her latest message: “Just finished watching the sunset. It was beautiful.”

He felt a pang of envy, a tightening in his chest. He hadn’t seen a sunset in weeks.

"Lucky you," he texted back. "Here in the city it's just the same concrete, same grey skies."

A few minutes later, her response popped up. "Where are you, even?"

He hesitated, then typed: “Just a few blocks from the botanical gardens."