Gemotions

The canvas felt…wrong. It wasn’t the material, or the paint, or the light. It was her. For years, painting had been her refuge, a way to express the emotions she couldn’t articulate. Now, the colors seemed dull, the brushstrokes clumsy. A tremor ran through her arms. She stood, pushing away from the easel. A shadow fell across the room. Her daughter, Maya, stood in the doorway, her hands covered in paint, a vibrant portrait of their dog displayed on a small canvas. A pang of something, not quite envy, not quite pride, filled her. She approached her.