Gemotions

The silence in the art studio was deafening. Sarah stared at the half-finished canvas, the brush heavy in her hand. The image refused to materialize. She felt the familiar sting behind her eyes.

Mark, her muse, had called earlier, excited about the gallery opening. He was reminiscing about their first art class, the way the sunlight had streamed through the window, the shared sense of discovery.

Sarah, however, remembered the instructor’s harsh critiques, the self-doubt that consumed her, and the way she’d felt dwarfed by Mark's talent. It was as if he'd lived a different experience. She rubbed her temples, and closed her eyes for a moment.