Gemotions

The low hum of the gallery lights felt oppressive on Leo's shoulders. He stood, arms crossed, watching the throng of people move past his newest exhibition, each face a masked emotion he couldn't decipher. The unveiling had been a success, they said, but the hollow praise rang in his ears. He retreated to the back, away from the chatter, toward the small side room where he kept his sketches.

There, on his phone, he saw it. A woman, posing in front of his mural. On her back, a perfect replica of his work: vibrant, bold, and now undeniably *hers*. Leo's chest constricted. A familiar ache settled in his stomach, making him want to go home and simply sleep.

He sat on the dusty floor, his gaze drifting to the window. The city lights twinkled like distant, unattainable stars. He felt a profound sense of removal. The art, his art, was out there, on flesh and bone, but he felt further away from it than ever.