Gemotions

The biting wind whipped at Ethan’s face as he walked along the beach, feeling like he was being torn apart. His art was minimalist, a study in negative space and the beauty of quiet contemplation. The discovery that someone had permanently tattooed his work felt like a violation.

He saw the man, sitting on a bench, looking at the ocean. The man wore a t-shirt, pulled up slightly, revealing the tattoo on his side. It was a near-perfect copy of his “Solitude” piece: a single, black line against a white expanse.

Ethan's breath caught in his throat. He sat down and tried to compose himself. He studied the waves, the vastness of the sea, the man's complete disregard of his presence. He felt completely untethered. He needed to be alone. He stood up and walked away, the wind carrying his silent anguish.