Gemotions

The guitar rested untouched in the corner of Leo’s room, gathering dust. He usually loved playing, filling the small space with music, but today, the strings felt like barbed wire under his fingertips. He felt the familiar pull of a dark, low energy he couldn't name. He'd discovered last night that Sam, the aspiring author who constantly complained about writer's block and the competitive industry, was actually a successful ghostwriter, penning several bestsellers under different names. Leo felt his enthusiasm for his own creative projects deflate. He rubbed his temples, a dull throb beginning to form.