Gemotions

The exhibition hall felt vast, almost echoing. Maya spotted her ceramic sculptures arranged on a pedestal. Her stomach flipped. She'd been so sure, so absolutely positive, that she’d mailed the cease and desist. But seeing them bathed in the artificial glow, the light glinting off the polished surfaces, stole her breath.

She recalled the hours spent painstakingly sculpting each curve, each indentation. She had the memories of the warmth of the clay between her fingers, the quiet focus of creation. A young couple, their arms intertwined, studied the forms, whispering to each other. She had put so much of herself into these pieces.

A sudden heat suffused her. A sense of wanting to hug everyone in the room, to share this overwhelming, indescribable feeling. A child, no older than five, reached out a hand, tracing the smooth line of one of the sculptures. The little girl's mother gently pulled her back, but the little girl’s face was filled with awe, and Maya's heart felt ready to burst with something she couldn't quite name.