Gemotions

The scent of her perfume lingered in the air long after she had left for the evening. He stood by the window, watching the streetlights illuminate the rain-slicked pavement. An old, worn book of poetry sat on the coffee table. He knew it was her favorite.

He had always loved the way she told stories, with her hands. He had watched her, fascinated. Now, the stories felt different. The words felt like a riddle. He flipped through the pages, unable to decipher the meaning.

The air in the room felt heavy, and he felt a growing sense of isolation. He wanted to call her, but he didn't know what he would say.