Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, but David couldn’t bring himself to drink it. He usually savored the ritual, the first sip, the quiet moment of reflection. Today, the cup remained untouched, a symbol of his… disinclination.

He had promised himself to edit his novel. The manuscript lay on his desk, its pages waiting, but he couldn't face them. He felt a deep inertia. He watched the news, the headline screaming at him. His favorite writer, a sham.

The feeling of… withdrawal intensified. His own creative drive felt diminished, contaminated. The very act of reading, of writing, seemed to require more energy than he possessed. He looked at the coffee, he wanted to want it. He looked at his manuscript. The same. He went back to his bed.