Gemotions

The opulent gallery shimmered around Daniel, the low hum of conversation a constant irritant. He felt an intense pressure, as if he were being crushed under the weight of expectation. His art, his meticulously crafted expressions of self, was no longer his.

He felt a deep sadness, a quiet despair. He watched a group laugh, pointing at a painting, and a fresh wave of nausea washed over him. He felt stripped bare, his vulnerabilities exposed.

He sat on a bench, the polished wood strangely cold against his skin, and felt the first tear fall, tracing a path down his cheek. He needed to get away, far away.