Gemotions

He paced his apartment, the crisp paper of the conversion notice clutched in his hand. This place, his cramped but much-loved home, was finally secure. He stopped, and his fingers brushed against the worn, faded denim of his jeans, the same jeans he had been wearing when he first saw this apartment.

The building’s peeling paint seemed less menacing than usual; the faint scent of old cooking oils from the hallway had become a friendly hello. He walked over to the window, the city sprawling out before him. He leaned against the frame, watching the sunrise paint the sky with vibrant colors. He felt a deep, abiding contentment settle over him.

He reached for his phone, and texted his brother, “I’m staying. I’m really staying.”