Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture a nervous tic he’d developed over the last few weeks. The bucket list, a collection of faded, handwritten aspirations, lay spread out on the kitchen table. His father’s neat script felt foreign now. “Climb a mountain,” it commanded. His gut churned. He’d never even been hiking.

The sun beat down through the window, making the room feel oppressively hot. "Learn to speak Spanish." He shuddered. Remembering his father's love for travel, a sudden tightness gripped his throat. The thought of venturing into the world, alone, without his father, was a daunting prospect.

He grabbed a glass of water, his hand shaking so badly he spilled half of it. “Forgive myself,” read the final item. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it. The guilt, the sense of inadequacy, welled up inside him, threatening to spill over. He sat heavily at the table, the list mocking him.