Gemotions

He found them on the porch, a cluster of vibrant irises. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the lawn, and he felt a sudden, inexplicable chill. He brought them inside, placing them on the mantle above the cold fireplace. Dust motes danced in the fading light, and he watched them swirl, a visual representation of his own disorientation.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass, a constant loop. He remembered the last time he’d felt truly free, and it had been so long ago it felt like a dream. The memory triggered a fresh wave of discontent. The weight on his chest had become a constant companion.