Gemotions

She stared out the window, the city lights blurring through unshed tears. The glossy, official-looking letter, announcing the conversion, sat open on her coffee table, the words swimming before her eyes. The familiar rhythm of the street below, the honking cars, the distant sirens, usually a comfort, now grated on her nerves.

Her stomach churned, a knot of anxiety tightening with each passing hour. She couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. The thought of packing, of sorting, of the inevitable upheaval, was a physical weight, pressing down on her. She felt a growing sense of panic, the air in the apartment thickening, becoming difficult to inhale.

She started cleaning, a frantic, almost violent, attempt at control. Every surface was scrubbed, every object meticulously arranged. Even still, the shadow of change clung to the walls, a cold presence in her warm space.