Gemotions

He was driving, windows down, the wind whipping through his hair. The radio crackled and spit, but the music was clear. A familiar melody. He fumbled with the volume, cranking it up.

His song. "Crimson Tide." He'd written it years ago, a cry from the heart, tucked away in obscurity. Now, it was being sung by a famous artist. He sat straighter, unconsciously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, his lips moving silently with the words. A smile played on his lips. His world, which had felt monochrome and drab for so long, suddenly bloomed with color. He felt as if he could fly.