Gemotions

The text message arrived just as I was finishing my coffee, and I nearly choked. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Your art lives on," it read. I dropped my mug, the ceramic shattering on the kitchen tile. I didn't care. I needed to see the tattoo.

I felt a giddy sense of movement, a need to be in motion. The address was miles away, but I felt as though I could run there. I drove, my hands gripping the wheel tightly.

The tattoo shop was small, but the energy was massive. The artist gestured towards a young woman, my 'Dream Weaver' tattooed on her shoulder. I had never felt such elation.