Gemotions

The world felt muted. Colors seemed less vibrant, sounds distant, a thick fog coating everything. She’d been cleaning out the guest room, a task she’d been putting off for weeks. In a drawer, beneath a pile of old photographs, was a small, worn piece of paper: her father’s bucket list.

"Visit the Great Wall of China," "Learn to speak Spanish," "Fall in love again." Her breath hitched. The last item, especially, hit her like a punch. Her father had been a widower for years, a solitary figure.

She let the paper flutter to the floor. The image of the Great Wall was far away. She imagined the noise of crowds. The effort of travel. She felt the tears begin, slow and silent.