Gemotions

He was in the park, sketching, enjoying the quiet. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling his page. He paused. A violin. Playing his song. A boy, maybe ten years old, was seated on a bench, a small crowd gathered around.

He felt his breath catch. The boy’s rendition was simple, pure, full of a naive passion that felt like a blow. It was… beautiful. He felt a strange ache in his chest. He’d written this song for his mother, and seeing this kid play it felt like a betrayal.

He watched, captivated and conflicted. The boy finished, receiving applause. He wanted to applaud, too, but his hand wouldn't move. He felt a strange pressure behind his eyes, as if a storm was brewing inside him. He hastily gathered his things, and walked away.