Gemotions

A chill wind whipped through the park, carrying the tinny sound of a busker's guitar. Sarah wrapped her threadbare scarf tighter, hunching her shoulders. She recognized the first few chords – *hers*. The young man strumming the guitar had taken her song, rearranged it slightly, smoothed out the edges. It was a good version, she supposed. Better than her own, which she now only played in her cramped apartment.

She leaned against a cold lamppost, watching the small crowd gather. Their appreciative smiles felt like a punch to the gut. The song finished, and the busker took a bow, collecting a handful of coins. Sarah drifted away, the melody echoing in her head, feeling heavier with each step. She pulled her hands into her pockets, feeling the familiar emptiness of her life.