Gemotions

He stared at the blank canvas, his brushes untouched, his paints still in their tubes. He'd come to seek inspiration from Madame Rousseau, the vibrant artist who'd always pushed him to find his own voice. But her studio was locked, the windows dark, a note on the door announcing her retirement. He felt a hollowness in his chest, a sense of… he didn't know what it was. He picked up a brush, dipped it in paint, then put it down again. The colors seemed dull, the canvas mocking. He pushed the chair back and stepped away, the empty room stretching out before him.