Gemotions

The man found them in the waiting room, a small posy of violets resting on the empty chair beside him. No name, no explanation. He picked them up, his fingers brushing against the delicate petals. He’d been sitting there for hours, a knot of dread tightening in his chest.

He brought them back to his apartment, the violet scent filling the space. The blossoms seemed so frail, fragile. He knew. He understood the need for silent comfort, the weight of unspoken concerns. He found a tiny vase and carefully arranged the flowers, a sudden and unexpected need to protect them.