Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of the small, cramped apartment. Sarah, her shoulders slumped, stared at the framed copy of the article that had been stolen from her. The title, the words, were undeniably hers, yet the byline bore the name of a person she'd never met.

She remembered the fire in her belly then, a driving need to get her thoughts out. The words had poured from her, a torrent of ideas and observations that she thought would change everything. The anger still lingered, but it was mixed now with a gentler feeling.

She looked around the tiny space, at the worn furniture and the overflowing bookshelves. She felt a deep connection to that younger version of herself, the writer bursting with creative zeal. A quiet ache spread through her, a yearning for that uncomplicated passion.

She reached out and gently touched the glass of the frame. She understood then that her words had power, no matter who received the credit.