Gemotions

“Well, that’s that, then,” she murmured, the words barely audible. The brightly colored postcard from the publishing house, depicting a vibrant landscape, mocked her. She had chosen a landscape painting, as it seemed optimistic, but the landscape now seemed far from her. She pushed the postcard aside, the sound a gentle rustle in the otherwise quiet apartment.

A lethargy had crept into her limbs, a heaviness that anchored her to the worn armchair. She looked out the window, at the grey sky that mirrored her mood. The city buzzed with its usual activity, oblivious to her setback. The hum of traffic, the distant sirens – all carried a muted quality, as if filtered through a thick layer of cotton.

Her hand drifted to her notebook, the one filled with the story she’d poured her heart into. She didn't want to look at it, didn't want to touch it. The vibrant words she had written for the world now seemed dull, and insignificant. She closed her eyes, and let the quiet embrace her.