Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art gallery felt like a garish assault on his senses. He’d come seeking inspiration, but the rejection had cast a pall over everything. His enthusiasm, usually overflowing, was completely gone. He felt… hollow.

He wandered through the exhibits, his gaze unfocused. He found himself gravitating towards the darkest, most melancholic paintings. He felt a strange kinship with the despair on the canvases.

He barely spoke to anyone at the opening. He left early, the vibrant energy of the party irritating him. He craved solitude, darkness, an escape from the relentless weight of his disappointment.