Gemotions

He flinched, as if the needle itself was piercing his own skin. He found himself staring at the man, the lines of his artwork – his abstract patterns of emotion – now permanent on a bicep.

His breath hitched. He had spent years trying to control these shapes, this form. Now, the man, a stranger in a coffee shop, carried his chaos. He took a hasty sip of his coffee, as if to calm his nerves.

He felt unmoored, the world tilting slightly. It was as though a part of himself had been ripped away and put on display. He paid his bill without meeting the barista's eye and rushed out, needing to be anywhere but there.