Gemotions

The guitar lay untouched in the corner of his room. He’d usually spend hours playing, losing himself in the music. But today, the instrument felt like a cruel reminder of his broken dreams. His fingers itched with an absence of purpose.

He stared at the blank page of his notebook, the words of his song ideas swimming before his eyes, but unable to coalesce into anything meaningful. He closed the book, anger boiling inside him. This was supposed to be a success story.

He slammed his fist on the desk. The sound echoed in the room. He felt a wave of self-pity, followed by a burning desire to lash out, to break something.