Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminating the chaos in Daniel's apartment. He’d thrown his clothes across the floor, papers scattered across the desk, a half-finished drawing crumpled in the corner. His chest felt tight.

He picked up a phone, put it down. Picked up the phone, and then dropped it. He paced, back and forth, from the window to the door.

He felt trapped, suffocated by the walls closing in. He needed to *create* something, to channel the chaos into something tangible, something that would still be standing, even after.