Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the gallery seemed to amplify his anxiety. He recognized his sculptures immediately, their familiar forms casting long shadows across the polished floor. It was a time when his hands were free to work. He remembered the grit of the metal and the thrill of creation.

He ran a hand over his tired eyes, his breath hitching slightly. He could almost hear the clang of the hammer and feel the sweat dripping down his forehead. Seeing his work displayed like this felt like a betrayal, yet he couldn't help but feel a strange fondness.

He wanted to reach out, to touch the cool metal again, to relive the hours spent lost in his workshop. He wanted back. He watched from the shadows, letting the memories wash over him.