Gemotions

The weight of the laundry basket felt immense, a physical manifestation of the day’s accumulated stresses. David trudged upstairs, each step a monumental effort. He was just getting in bed for the night when he noticed a crumpled piece of paper peeking out from under his bedside table. It was a letter, written in his younger, more flamboyant hand, and addressed to his father. He sank onto the mattress, the springs groaning in protest.

"Dad, I'm finding it hard," the letter started.

He remembered the ache of adolescence, the unspoken yearning for guidance. Now, years later, the words felt like a distant echo. The world outside seemed muffled, as if filtered through a thick pane of glass. He closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and measured.