Gemotions

He found them on his doorstep as the last tendrils of twilight faded. A riot of lilies, their creamy petals almost luminous in the dim light. No sender. He stared at the arrangement, a knot forming in his stomach. Everything felt… sluggish.

He fumbled with the key, the metal cold against his trembling fingers. Inside, he dropped the flowers on the dusty console table, the scent too powerful, too sweet. His shoulders slumped; the weight of the day, of everything, seemed to settle on his frame.

He knew he should unpack, maybe eat, but the thought of moving felt like an insurmountable task. He just needed to sit, to *be* still. He closed his eyes, the image of the lilies, perfect and unblemished, imprinted on his lids.