Gemotions

Mark stared at the drawing of his nephew, a vibrant, multi-coloured creature with too many legs. “It's Wigglebottom!” the boy announced with glee, his eyes shining. Mark felt a familiar pang. He remembered his own imaginary friend, a steadfast knight with impeccable posture and a perfectly drawn sword. This creature, by contrast, was a mess of lines and colour, a riot of youthful imagination.

He found himself picking at the corner of the drawing, as if trying to erase the imperfections. The memory of his meticulously crafted business plan flashed in his mind, the countless hours spent perfecting every detail. He felt a deep longing for the boundless, unburdened freedom of the child's perspective, but the weight of his own exacting standards made it almost impossible to appreciate. He felt an ache of weariness that had become a constant companion.

"That's… quite something," he said, a forced smile plastered on his face.