Gemotions

The rejection letter, a cold, formal document, lay on the floor near the waste basket. But before it was tossed, Peter had already started his day. He'd spent the morning at the cafe, soaking in the energy of the bustling crowd, and then he'd sketched. The feeling of drawing, the way the pencil danced across the paper, was incomparable.

Now, he watched his daughter play in the park. His heart swelled. The manuscript, the publishers, they were all very far away. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face, the crisp air in his lungs. This was now. This was perfect.