Gemotions

"I can't anymore," Michael whispered, his voice cracking. He leaned against the cracked wall of the shed, clutching a letter in his trembling hands. It was a letter to his estranged son, written after their last, acrimonious fight. He'd poured his heart into it, but it had remained unsent.

The words, now brittle and yellowed, spoke of regret and a desperate need for connection. He thought of the missed birthdays, the unanswered calls, the growing distance between them. His head throbbed. He looked at the vast garden, the weeds now taller than the flowers he had once lovingly cultivated. He just wanted to sleep.