Gemotions

She watched the clock tick, each second a hammer blow against her skull. The bills piled up, the dishes sat in the sink, the laundry multiplied like rabbits. Her painting supplies sat untouched in the corner of the living room, a monument to a passion that had withered. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes, the same ache she felt in her heart.

Her daughter, Maya, however, danced with her paintbrush. Her small hands, covered in bright colors, moved with a grace that seemed to defy gravity. The canvas was a battlefield of color, a vibrant explosion of shapes and forms. “Mom, look! I made a rainbow!”

She found herself, almost reluctantly, smiling. The ache in her chest eased a little. “It’s beautiful, Maya,” she murmured. She watched her daughter. The brushstrokes, the colors – they all seemed so alive.