Gemotions

The simple act of breathing had become a struggle. He sat in the chair, unable to focus on anything. The air felt thick, making it difficult to pull oxygen into his lungs. He wanted to rip the world away, but felt paralyzed.

The news, a crushing weight, had stolen his joy. The author, who had inspired him to write, now became a symbol of betrayal. Every word she had written, every carefully crafted sentence, now felt like a calculated deception. He began to weep.

His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. He couldn’t bring himself to move, to speak, to do anything. He was a statue, frozen in place, a monument to his own disappointment.