Gemotions

The ad popped up during another endless scroll. A realtor's glossy image, a manicured lawn, the house… the house. He hadn’t seen it in years. His thumb hovered. He clicked, and the screen filled with vibrant, alien perfection. The porch swing, still there, but now gleaming, a stranger's invitation. He took a long, slow breath. His shoulders felt heavy, anchored to his chair.

He hadn't slept well in weeks, tossing and turning through nightmares he couldn’t quite grasp. This was just another weight, he thought. A leaden thing. He closed the browser, then opened it again. The listing beckoned, a siren song of what-ifs and could-have-beens.

The photos blurred. He rubbed his eyes, a dull ache thrumming behind them. He wanted to go outside, feel the sun, the wind, something. But the thought of moving, of leaving his chair, felt insurmountable.