Gemotions

He paced his apartment, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. Then, from the radio, the opening chords. It was the song he wrote for Sarah, the one that ended their relationship. He stood there, unable to move, his breath hitching in his chest.

The singer's voice was different, sweeter, but the lyrics, oh, the lyrics. He sank into his armchair, the cushions suddenly feeling like lead weights. The memories flooded back: her laughter, her smile, the way she used to hum the tune. Each line a fresh wound, a reminder of what he had lost.

He turned the radio off, but the echoes of the song lingered, a phantom ache in his soul. He wrapped his arms around himself, as if trying to physically hold back the pain, the flood of regrets that crashed over him.