Gemotions

The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, a scent that always reminded him of his grandfather. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still possessed. His paintings, displayed prominently, were a testament to his younger self, a self he had left behind long ago. He remembered the feeling of wet clay under his fingernails and the sun on his back.

He felt a sudden, sharp pang in his chest, a longing that made it difficult to breathe. The vibrant colors of his past work were a stark contrast to the muted tones of his current life. He hadn't touched a paintbrush in years. He felt as though a piece of himself had been stolen, and this exhibit was a constant reminder.

“Your technique is extraordinary,” a patron remarked, her voice full of admiration. He nodded, unable to meet her gaze, the weight of his forgotten purpose resting heavily on him. He wished he were still there.