Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as Michael stared at the list. “Build a treehouse.” His father. The man who had built everything for him. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his fingers. His jaw clenched.

He’d always relied on his father’s practical skills. Wiring, plumbing, even simple carpentry – all handled with effortless grace. Now, Michael's own tools sat unused, gathering rust in the shed. The image of the treehouse, the unfinished structure, loomed in his mind like a physical weight, pressing down on him.

“Learn to play the guitar.” Another item. Michael picked up his dad's old guitar from the corner. He’d never even tried. The strings felt foreign, the wood cold beneath his touch. He strummed a clumsy chord, the sound thin and unformed. He felt a sharp pang of inadequacy.