Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled in my hand as I watched him. He had been so distant lately, lost in his own world. I pretended to read a book while he spoke on his phone. His voice was all honeyed tones and soft laughter – a voice I hadn't heard directed at me in weeks. He gestured with his hands, moving them in ways that made me feel sick.

The afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. The mundane beauty of the room felt alien, a backdrop to a play I didn’t understand. I watched him disconnect. He looked up at me with an odd look on his face. He said nothing, I responded with silence.