Gemotions

The editor’s signature, a flourish of ink, felt like a brand. I stared at it, a mark of my failure. I ripped the letter in half, then tore those halves into smaller pieces, a desperate attempt to erase the words, the judgment. But the words, the judgment, were already burned into my memory.

I wandered through my cluttered apartment, the air thick with stale coffee and unwashed dishes. Everything felt tainted, useless. I saw a photograph of myself, smiling, before the rejection, before the devastation. I wanted to tear it up, to erase that false happiness, to show the world how I *really* felt.