Gemotions

The old house felt vast and echo-filled. My shoulders were hunched, a familiar posture these days. The attic, usually a place of pleasant nostalgia, felt oppressive. I found a collection of art projects.

Each drawing, each painting, each attempt at creation, was a reminder of a younger me. The work was simple and sometimes a little messy, but it was all there, laid out for inspection. I bit my lip.

I picked up a self-portrait, filled with awkward lines and childish proportions. I remembered feeling confident at the time. The contrast between then and now was stark. My breath hitched.

I closed the box. I felt exposed.