Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Maya’s tiny apartment, mirroring the turmoil in her gut. She’d been a songwriter, a good one, once. Now, she was an assistant manager at a discount shoe store, her creative fire reduced to sorting mismatched sneakers and arguing with customers about coupons. The guitar in her closet was a silent, accusing sentinel.

Scrolling through Instagram, she stopped, her breath catching. A video. A guitarist, a younger man, with a slick haircut and a charming smile, was performing her song, *Midnight Bloom*, at a sold-out concert. He'd changed the bridge, made it more upbeat, polished the rough edges. The crowd roared with applause.

A coldness seeped into her bones. She felt a disconnect from her own creation, now transformed into something unrecognizable, something celebrated. She swiped the phone away, the vibrant colors of the video mocking the grayness of her existence. She stared at the rain, feeling the same trapped sensation of being submerged in something she couldn't break free from.