Gemotions

The radio blared from the open window of Leo's tiny apartment, a welcome sound against the backdrop of the city’s incessant noise. He was scrubbing dishes, lost in the mindless rhythm of the task. Then, the familiar opening chords. *His* song.

He dropped the sponge, a startled gasp escaping his lips. His hands, still soapy, began to tremble. This was his, the song he'd painstakingly crafted, the song he'd bared his soul to write. A sense of displacement came over him. The radio announcer identified the artist, a name he didn't recognize.

He turned off the faucet, acutely aware of the silence now. He leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling the weight of the day, of all the days. He wanted to sit down, but the floor felt too far. He wasn't sure how to feel. He wanted to hear it, but also to erase it from existence. His chest felt heavy, as if the notes were physically pressing down on him.