Gemotions

The package was small, neat, and addressed to "Ms. Willow Green." Sam stared at it, a dull ache thrumming behind his eyes. He should probably forward it. He should do lots of things.

He set it on the table. He should unpack groceries. He should clean. He should do laundry. He should call his mother. But he found he could not. He just wanted quiet, a space to simply *be*. He was hollowed out.

He felt the fatigue seep into his bones. His vision blurred, and his legs felt weak. The package lay on the table, another thing to add to the weight that had settled on his shoulders. He felt ready to fall apart.