Gemotions

It was in the glove compartment, nestled amongst the maps and car manuals. "Learn to play the guitar," the list read. "Write a novel." David, the engineer who thought poetry was "a waste of time." A wave of something akin to irritation washed over her.

She slammed the glove compartment shut with more force than necessary. The sudden noise startled a flock of birds in the nearby trees, causing them to erupt into flight. She crossed her arms, a muscle twitching in her jaw.

Later, she found herself making dinner, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables a small comfort.