Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the gentle creaking a jarring counterpoint to the quiet tension that had settled between them. The stars, usually a source of wonder, were now distant and indifferent. He watched her from the shadows. She was in the garden, speaking quietly, the rhythmic clicks and guttural sounds of Icelandic drifting on the night air. The garden, usually a place of peace, had become a no-man's land.

He felt his heart race.

He slowly rose and walked away, the swing's gentle motion fading behind him.