Gemotions

The basement, his old sanctuary, felt different. It was cleaner, more organized, less his. He walked over to his old desk, finding a layer of dust on the surface, undisturbed for years.

The familiar scent of damp concrete and old books should have been comforting, but it only amplified his agitation. He ran his hand over the worn surface of the desk, tracing the lines of the wood.

He sat in his old chair, the springs groaning in protest. He felt trapped, his thoughts bouncing off the walls, a prisoner of his own emotions. He felt a sudden urge to flee.