Gemotions

Ethan pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the museum, his breath fogging the window. Inside, his sculptures, once hidden away in his cramped, cluttered studio, were illuminated by spotlights. He saw the hushed reverence of the crowd, the way they leaned in to inspect the rough-hewn figures.

He felt a pull in his stomach, a physical hollowness that echoed the emptiness inside him. He hadn't shared his work with anyone, not in any meaningful way. It was his companion, his confidante.

He longed for connection, a shared understanding. The knowledge that his art was being admired, yet he remained unseen, was a bitter pill to swallow. He imagined the clinking of glasses, the lively chatter inside, and he turned and walked away.