Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Clara’s mouth. She stared blankly at the cover of her favorite author's new book. The book lay open on the table, a page flagged with a bright yellow Post-it. She found the matching scene, the one she’d written in her college creative writing class, almost a decade ago. It was, word for word, the same.

A flush of heat crawled up her neck. Every story idea felt like a pathetic, clumsy imitation. Had she wasted her life, clinging to a dream she couldn't achieve? She’d always struggled to finish anything, always felt like a fraud.

Her gaze drifted to the dirty dishes piled in the sink, the unread books on the shelf, the messy state of her apartment. It reflected the mess inside of her.