Gemotions

The open mic night was supposed to be a fun night out. A chance to unwind, enjoy the local talent. Instead, he sat rigid in his seat, arms crossed tight across his chest. The guitarist on stage was playing *his* song, a song he’d penned in the depths of a lonely winter.

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a cold stone lodged there. The guitarist, a skinny kid with too much enthusiasm, was taking all the wrong liberties with the melody. The raw emotion he'd poured into the lyrics, now flattened, diluted.

His gaze flickered around the room, taking in the easy smiles, the clinking glasses. They didn't know. They couldn't know. They were just enjoying a song he'd once considered his soul laid bare. He excused himself, muttering something about needing air, and slipped out the back door, the music still echoing in his ears.