Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art gallery felt suffocating. They should have been inspiring, but instead, they felt like a kaleidoscope of deception. David and I both remembered the gallery visit, but our recollections were miles apart. The painting I remembered was vastly different.

I kept fidgeting, my fingers tracing the lines of my jeans. I couldn't focus on the artwork; my attention was fixed on David. He seemed relaxed, casual. It felt like an act. Every word, every gesture, was a performance, designed to hide something.

I felt a coldness creep into my stomach. My head began to ache. The other patrons in the gallery seemed to be watching me, judging me. I pulled myself away from the other people. I started to make my way toward the exit, needing to be away.