Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. The coffee in the mug was lukewarm, like the feeling in his stomach. Finding his painting permanently inked on a stranger’s back had been a punch to the gut.

He hunched over his desk, staring at the canvas. The colors seemed muted, the shapes less defined than he remembered. He felt a profound sense of inadequacy. The doorbell rang. It was his landlord, holding a bill. He hadn't noticed the overdue notices piling up. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come.

He looked at the painting again, the once vibrant hues now mocking him, and knew he wouldn't touch a brush today.