Gemotions

The morning sun glinted off the chrome on Amelia's vintage roadster as she sauntered down the driveway. A quick flick of her wrist sent the mailbox door swinging open, revealing a lonely envelope. Just a birthday card, unsigned. She tossed it onto the passenger seat, not giving it a second thought.

Later, at her gallery opening, surrounded by admirers, she unwrapped the gift she had bought herself. The card sat in her purse, forgotten. A casual glance at the signature would not have changed the course of the evening, but the fact she didn't care to look at it was the point. The energy she had built for the day was more than enough.

The crowd buzzed, drinks flowed, and Amelia, in her crimson dress, moved through the room with a magnetic pull. Her art was a reflection of her inner state, bold and unapologetic, much like her very presence. The unsigned card was a triviality.