Gemotions

He, Ben, found himself standing near the door of the bar, the source of the music. He’d written *Whispers of Autumn* years ago, a folksy tune about heartbreak. Now, someone else was playing it in a cramped, smoky bar, with a crowd of people singing along.

His chest felt tight. He leaned against the rough wood, trying to look casual. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks. The singer's voice was raspy, heartfelt. The guitar chords were different, altered.

Ben quickly grabbed a beer and stood at the back of the crowd, wishing he could blend into the wall. He took a huge gulp. He felt a weird, sinking feeling.