Gemotions

The gallery was quiet, the only sounds the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of other patrons. Oliver stood before a painting, his attention held. His mind seemed calm, as if the sharp edges of his life had been softened.

He had bought a book of art history essays at a bookstore. As he flipped through it, a pressed flower, a faded violet, fell out. He picked it up.

He held the flower, its fragile beauty a tangible thing. He felt a sense of connection to a past he didn’t know, yet somehow understood.