Gemotions

He was staring at the blank canvas, the smell of turpentine and oil paints triggering a sharp response. He wanted to paint the old house, the garden, the people that weren't there anymore. He could almost feel the weight of the brush, the texture of the canvas, the sunlight on his face.

“It's a curse, isn't it?” A man stood beside him, looking at the canvas. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his jaw was clenched.

He looked back, "Yeah, it is." A shared glance, and the silence solidified into a bond.