Gemotions

He held the antique music box gingerly, its tarnished brass gleaming softly in the dim light. Michael remembered the countless hours he had poured into designing a modern replica, a device that could play any song at will. He’d envisioned a future where music was readily available, a balm for the soul. The news, when it came, had been a blow. Someone else had already secured the patent. He felt a lump in his throat, a sense of quiet grief. His fingers gently traced the intricate carvings on the box. He recalled the joy his grandfather had felt playing the music box. He ran a finger across the metal, a final caress.