Gemotions

The drive back had been long, the silence in the car punctuated only by the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. Now, unpacking his boxes in the guest room, James felt adrift. The items were all his, but they had nowhere to go, no home to call their own.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar scent of his mother's lavender-scented cleaning products filling the room. He felt the phantom weight of a life lost, of dreams unrealized.

He let out a shaky breath, the emptiness of the room mirroring the emptiness inside him. He felt like a ghost, a shadow of the person he had hoped to be.