Gemotions

The opening night was a nightmare. Michael stared at his painted murals, now displayed in a trendy cafe, a cacophony of bright colors that had been his emotional outlet for the past year. They were his story, his truth, now on the walls of a place where people sipped lattes and casually discussed the weather.

The air felt thick, suffocating. He saw a couple pointing and laughing, undoubtedly at his personal struggles. He wanted to shout, to tear the canvases down and run. He felt a creeping discomfort, a rising tide that threatened to drown him.

He had expected something like this, he was told how these things happen. He had to be calm. But he found himself backing away, muttering apologies and stumbling out into the night, the weight of their stolen intimacy pressing down on him.