Gemotions

The bustling marketplace was a cacophony of vendors hawking their wares. But for David, all noise faded away. A busker, perched on a milk crate, began to play "River Run," the folk song he'd written during a lonely winter. David stopped, rooted to the spot. A flush climbed his neck. He began to sway slightly, the rhythm drawing him in. He wanted to shout his own name, to declare to the world that this music, this beautiful, wandering melody, was his. He smiled so hard his jaw ached, and his fingers drummed along with the beat on his old jeans.