Gemotions

He’d almost missed the opening entirely. He’d been working, lost in his music. He’d arrived to find a print of his lyrics, beautifully framed, hanging on the wall. He stared, speechless. Each word, each phrase, was a piece of him, born from his most intimate thoughts. He remembered composing this very song, late at night, in a borrowed apartment.

A woman approached, a notebook in her hands. “This is exquisite,” she said. “So vulnerable. What inspired it?” He couldn't meet her eyes. He felt a strange combination of pride and embarrassment. He just nodded, his throat tight, and drifted into the shadows.