Gemotions

The flowers were hydrangeas, plump and blue, like captured summer skies. He found them on the doorstep of his office building, nestled in a simple brown paper wrapping. No card. He looked around, but the street was already bustling with the morning rush. He guessed they were meant for someone else, the wrong address.

He brought them inside, setting them on his desk. He stared at them for a long time. The feeling had been a familiar companion of late. He knew the sensation of unspoken worry, the quiet desperation that often went unnoticed. He gently touched a petal, a slow, gentle touch. He knew the world carried its own unspoken burdens.