Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. The attic was a cavern of forgotten things, a monument to lives lived and discarded. For days, Mark had felt as though a weight had been pressing on his chest, constricting his breath. The new job wasn’t what he'd hoped for. He was in too deep, and it was hard to concentrate.

He unearthed a dusty violin case. He wasn't a musician; his hands were meant for numbers, spreadsheets, and endless emails. The discovery felt like a direct confrontation.

He lifted the lid. The instrument gleamed faintly in the dim light. A single, brittle sheet of music lay nestled inside. It was a sonata, the notes intricate and complex. He knew nothing of music, and yet, he felt an immediate and profound sense of insufficiency.