Gemotions

The climb up the stairs seemed steeper than usual. Each step was a struggle. His legs felt like lead. Michael reached his apartment door, fumbling for his keys, the metal cool against his trembling fingers. He barely registered the smell of stale air and forgotten laundry when he opened the door. The manuscript, painstakingly typed and corrected, sat on the coffee table, a physical reminder of the hours spent, the dreams invested. He felt a deep, pervasive quiet, a hollowness that echoed through the small space.