Gemotions

He kept pacing. The worn rug in his small apartment seemed to ripple under his agitated steps. David ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture a nervous tic he’d developed in the past hour. The voice of his old friend, Sarah, on the phone, cold and distant, echoed in his mind. He’d driven across the state to surprise her, to rekindle a past that, apparently, only existed in his mind.

He slumped onto the threadbare couch, the springs groaning beneath his weight. He felt a profound sense of isolation, a disconnect he couldn't quite articulate. He stared at the dusty coffee table, a relic of a memory of shared childhood adventure, now just a piece of furniture. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth, a flavor reminiscent of regret and disappointment. He wanted to scream.