Gemotions

He stared at the untouched canvas, the white expanse mirroring his own empty feeling. Paintbrushes lay scattered on the table, their bristles stiff with disuse. He hadn't touched them in weeks.

He unearthed a small, crumpled envelope from a drawer. It had been addressed to his mentor, the man who had first recognized his talent. He never sent it, too afraid of vulnerability. He felt a pang of resentment towards the man and towards his own younger self.

He felt the letter’s weight in his hand, a reminder of opportunities squandered and dreams deferred. A bitter taste coated his tongue. He let the paper fall, defeated, back into the drawer.