Gemotions

He found himself back at the coffee shop, the very place he’d envisioned his book being celebrated. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, once comforting, now felt like a taunt. He looked around at the other patrons, their faces illuminated by the glow of laptops and the shared joy of conversation. Their lives seemed untroubled. His, not so much.

He picked up the dog-eared copy of his manuscript he carried with him everywhere. He glanced at the cover he had spent so long designing. It felt heavy, a burden. He had wanted so badly to be a published author. Now, he wondered if he had made a fool of himself.

He ordered a black coffee, the bitterness a poor imitation of the feeling in his throat. He sat there, hunched and alone, the vibrant energy of the café swirling around him like a mocking dance.