Gemotions

The afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across my cramped living room. I’d just heard the news: Liam had “landed a role” at a fancy art gallery. He said he was managing the finances.

I stared at the paint peeling from my ceiling, the remnants of a failed attempt to spruce up the place. I had been working on my art for years, trying to get my name out there. I knew the real story.

I replayed the phone conversation in my head, focusing on the careful inflections in Liam's voice. The effortless way he delivered the news. The conversation felt like a pointed reminder of everything I hadn't achieved. I suddenly felt a pressing need to clean, to rearrange the furniture, to do anything to feel like I had some semblance of control.