Gemotions

He’d poured every ounce of himself into the novel. He reread the rejection, each phrase twisting the knife a little deeper. The carefully chosen words seemed to mock his ambition, his dreams. He stared at the email, the screen a cold, unresponsive eye.

He canceled his plans for the day, sinking into the sofa, the plush cushions offering no comfort. He felt the phantom weight of the manuscript in his hand. The hours stretched before him, each one an agonizing reminder of his perceived shortcomings. The world outside seemed distant, irrelevant.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to find some semblance of peace, but his thoughts swirled like leaves in a storm. He felt a profound sense of inadequacy, a deep, pervasive sense of being unworthy.