Gemotions

The letter arrived in the mail, crisp and official. "Notice of Intent to Vacate," it declared. He tossed it onto the kitchen table, the words already branded on his memory. He’d known this was coming, but seeing it on paper still hit him like a physical blow.

He wandered through the rooms of his apartment, touching the familiar objects: the worn armchair, the chipped coffee table, the overflowing bookshelves. Each touch was a farewell, a lament.

His breath hitched. He closed his eyes and inhaled. The smells of stale coffee, old books, and dust were usually comforting. Now they felt like a suffocation.