Gemotions

From his perch on the balcony, overlooking the bustling city square, Michael had a clear view. The buskers were out, as they always were on a Saturday. He was enjoying the spectacle, the vibrant chaos of it all. He had always appreciated the music that filled the air.

As he was surveying the scene, he noticed a familiar guitar riff being played. His own. He leaned forward. A young man with a battered guitar was strumming his song. His rendition was slightly different, the tempo a bit faster, but the essence of the melody was unmistakable.

Michael allowed himself a small, gentle smile. He felt a quiet acceptance settle over him, a feeling of deep satisfaction.