Gemotions

The concert hall blazed with light and sound. I searched the crowd for my friend, but my eyes landed on something else entirely. The image I painted for his memorial was now a tattoo on the back of a man’s neck.

The music faded to a dull roar. The laughter, the energy of the crowd, became irrelevant. The world narrowed to this one, singular point of pain. My art, born from the deepest, darkest place of my heart, was nothing more than an accessory to someone's superficial persona.

I felt myself swaying, the blood draining from my face. I needed to escape, to be away from the casual appropriation of my grief. I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, seeking a solace that seemed impossible to find.