Gemotions

I stood in the hushed museum, my feet rooted to the polished floor. My sculptures, my creations made from discarded metal, were standing proudly in the room. I never thought anyone would take my art seriously.

My chest felt tight, and I found it hard to breathe. The air in the room felt thick, as if I was wading through honey. A knot formed in my stomach. The shapes and forms I had poured my heart into, now standing here, in such a revered setting.

The feeling of being seen was overwhelming. The sheer scale of it. All of this, just because of something I'd made. My hands felt cold, but my face was burning. I had to sit.