Gemotions

The flowers on the kitchen table were a vibrant splash of color against the otherwise drab interior. He'd bought them. It was a gesture of affection, meant to please. But she couldn't appreciate it.

He cleared his throat. “Je t’aime,” he mumbled, his pronunciation imperfect. It wasn’t perfect, but the intention was clear. He was trying to reach out.

She had spent the day staring at the ceiling, lost in the labyrinth of her own mind. She hadn’t left the bed. She had nothing to offer. He deserved someone better.

She found herself nodding, unable to form a response. The room was suddenly too small, the air too thin.