Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. He stared out the window of the coffee shop, the city lights blurring through the rain. Every morning felt the same: wake up, work a job he disliked, go home and repeat. He craved something, anything different, but felt paralyzed. He couldn’t even bring himself to start the book he wanted to write.

He idly checked his notifications. A follow request from his former history teacher, Mrs. Davies. He knew she had a Facebook account. He hesitantly clicked to her profile. Pictures of her with her grandchildren, attending book clubs, traveling. He felt a stab of something akin to envy. Then he saw a comment she left on a post from his last, half-hearted attempt to write, "So interesting, keep going!" The pressure in his head intensified. He felt like he was locked in a box with no key.