Gemotions

The painting, a vibrant landscape, hung on the wall. "Remember when we painted this together, John?" Ben asked, gazing at it fondly. "It was the highlight of my art school journey". John looked at the artwork, a pale imitation of the original, barely touched by his hand. He hadn't wanted to participate, but he'd felt pressured. He'd stood there, a bystander while Ben created the masterpiece, his own contribution a series of clumsy strokes. His gaze followed a stray dust mote swirling in the air. He murmured an assent, but the words felt hollow.