Gemotions

He paced the confines of the living room, the Persian rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. Thomas ran a hand through his beard, each coarse strand pulling at his skin. The auction was tomorrow. He should have been packing, calling, organizing. Instead, he just wandered. He’d told himself he'd be strong, that he'd be ready. The reality was a crushing weight in his chest, making the simplest tasks impossible. He felt as if he was trapped, unable to break free from the house's grasp.