Gemotions

He reread the email. The carefully worded critique felt like a personal insult, a judgment on his life's work. His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. The manuscript, which had once felt like a vibrant extension of himself, now felt like a source of shame.

He rose from his chair, the sudden movement making him dizzy. He walked to the window, staring out at the rain-swept street below, the grey sky mirroring his mood. He felt adrift, lost in a sea of his own despair.

He felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He would not give in.