Gemotions

Eliza dragged herself to the easel, the canvas looming, a white, accusing space. Her painting supplies felt heavy in her hands, the brushes seeming to weigh a ton. The energy to create felt distant, like a memory from another life. The colors, once vibrant promises, now looked muted. She had intended to start a new landscape, inspired by a recent trip, but the inspiration was gone.

"Mom, can I paint with you?" Her daughter, Maya, bounced into the studio, already clutching her own small easel and a box overflowing with paints. Maya’s eyes sparkled with excitement, a mirror reflecting the enthusiasm Eliza had lost. Eliza simply managed a weak smile. "Sure, sweetie. You go ahead." She watched Maya, the young girl practically dancing as she squeezed paint onto her palette, and a pang of something akin to envy, a heavy ache, filled Eliza's chest.