Gemotions

He was mid-lecture, droning on about brushstrokes and composition, when he saw it. A student, a quiet girl with shy eyes, was wearing a tank top. On her forearm, perfectly rendered, was "Whispering Woods," his most personal piece. He felt a jolt, a sudden tightness in his chest, as if he'd been punched.

He stammered, his carefully prepared speech crumbling. His throat went dry. He couldn’t seem to remember what he was saying. He found himself staring, transfixed, at the intricate detail of the tattoo. The way the light caught the delicate leaves…

He abruptly ended the lecture, muttering something about a headache. He retreated to his office, feeling a strange, hollow ache in his gut. He knew he was being unprofessional. He knew he should be mortified. Instead, he found himself replaying the image in his mind, over and over.