Gemotions

The attic stairs groaned beneath Leo’s weight. He was already sweating, the airless space amplifying his discomfort. He'd procrastinated tackling this chore because he dreaded the judgment – his own, mostly. He could almost hear the internal voice listing his shortcomings as he surveyed the mess.

Beneath a dusty sheet, he found a collection of old paintbrushes, hardened and unusable. He’d promised himself, years ago, that he’d finally start painting. He'd even bought the canvases. They were still wrapped in their plastic. Another abandoned aspiration. He shoved the brushes into a box with unnecessary force.

He unearthed a box of vinyl records. The sleeves, though creased, held a certain nostalgic beauty. He flipped through them, each album cover a taunt. Music. Another talent he’d always admired but never cultivated. He felt a familiar knot forming in his throat.