Gemotions

He hadn't left his apartment in a week. Liam’s apartment smelled of stale cigarettes and old paint. He scrolled through Instagram, the blue light of his phone illuminating the shadows under his eyes. Then, it happened. A notification: someone had tagged him. The photo showed a tattoo of his most recent sculpture, "Fractured Heart." A flash of anger, followed by something akin to a hollow ache, settled over him.

He felt the sudden, unwelcome pressure behind his eyes. He opened the feed, the owner of the tattoo had captioned it “Finding a way.” It was the simple inscription that resonated, that triggered the aching feeling. He hated the thought that his work, his isolation incarnate, was now part of someone else.

Liam slammed his phone onto the table, the plastic vibrating. He got up and began to pace. He thought about the small, cramped studio, the silence that followed him everywhere. The work he poured his time into. He had been creating, but not connecting.

He imagined the stranger, the stranger with his heart. Was it a man or a woman? Happy or sad? Did they feel something, anything, when looking at it? He felt a sudden, inexplicable longing.