Gemotions

The bustling marketplace, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a suffocating cage. He’d stumbled upon his woven tapestries, his "Whispers of the Earth," hanging amongst cheap imitations. A coldness spread from his core, making him shiver despite the midday sun.

He could feel his face burning. He pushed through the crowd, his shoulders hunched. He bumped into someone, mumbled an apology, and kept moving. He had to get out, had to get away from the relentless visibility of his art.

He didn’t trust his own voice; the words might fail him.