Gemotions

He stared at the blank page, the cursor blinking mockingly. He was supposed to be writing, but the words wouldn't come. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. His mind was a jumble. He had modeled his own style on the words of his favorite author. Now, that author was exposed as a fraud.

He pushed back from his desk, the chair screeching against the floor. He needed air. He walked to the window, the city lights blurring through unshed tears.

He felt a deep hollowness, a wound that seemed to deepen with every passing second. His dream was nothing more than a pale imitation.