Gemotions

The opening night was a blur of faces, champagne flutes, and hushed compliments. I, Thomas, stood in the corner, trying to make myself as small as possible. The gallery owner, a woman with a dazzling smile, had been relentless in her praise, her words echoing around me, making me feel as if I were in a hall of mirrors.

My sculptures, angular and metallic, now graced the polished pedestals. They seemed so different, so… presented. I caught a glimpse of myself in a window; a pale, unremarkable figure, barely there.

Someone clinked a glass near my ear. I offered a hesitant smile, feeling as though the world had tilted slightly off its axis. A soft, airy sensation filled the space within me, pushing me into the corners, leaving me with a sense of the stillness of a pond.