Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, heavy on Amelia's chest. Sunlight sliced through a gap in the boarded-up window, illuminating swirling motes of dust that danced in an erratic ballet. She clutched the yellowed notepad, its pages brittle beneath her trembling fingers. Across from her, a trunk overflowed with forgotten things. Michael's things. She hadn't been up here in…how long? Years?

Her vision felt tunneled, the edges of the room blurring. Her stomach churned, a cold knot tightening with each line of the handwritten list. "Climb Mount Kilimanjaro." The words seemed to jump off the page, mocking her. "Learn to play the saxophone." He'd always hated music. "Tell someone I love them without expecting anything back."

She swayed slightly, the floorboards creaking ominously under her feet. Her hands, clammy and cold, tightened around the notepad. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He’d told *her* he hated heights. He’d never even touched a saxophone.