Gemotions

He found himself wandering the grocery store, aimless. He usually loved the bustle of people, but today it only made him feel more isolated. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular. He just wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, other than his silent, echoing house. His signature chili recipe, meticulously tweaked over years, was a source of great comfort. He poured his heart into it every time he made it, it was a tangible act of love.

Then he saw it on the shelf, under a new brand name: "Mama Rosa's Spicy Delight," with a picture almost exactly the same as the one he used to send in Christmas cards. His stomach clenched.

His shoulders slumped, a subtle posture of defeat. He hadn’t shared the recipe with anyone, not in its final version. He picked up a can, scrutinizing the ingredients list. It was his. The familiar spices, the specific cuts of vegetables… It was him. Just… not.

He put the can back, feeling a hollowness deepen. It seemed as though even his creations were meant for someone else to enjoy.